A Daughter of Kings
by oldRazberri
Summary: AU. In another Middle Earth, Cristiel, the first child of Aragorn and Arwen, struggles to survive in a world where darkness can easily rule the mind after it destroys the heart. Very AU, 10th walker, Boromir/OFC/Eomer.
1. Naivety and Inquiry

**Author's Note:** So I was hoping to be able to finish the entire fan fiction (FotR through Post RotK) by this coming spring, but I'm only one third of the way through, and I simply COULD NOT WAIT to publish. At all. The poll thing was kind of just a... um... muse? Heh, anyway, this is the second draft of "A Daughter of Kings," and is, I think, much improved. But we shall see...

**Title:** A Daughter of Kings

**Author:** Razberri

**Date Officially Started: **May 2005

**Rating:** PG-13 _(parents cautioned)_ Some violence, frightening images, and adult situations

**Summary:** An AU: In another Middle Earth, Aragorn and Arwen are married pre-Fellowship, and have a first-born daughter. She is rather independent and wants her freedom, then she falls in love with a certain someone (who it is should not be hard to guess). After a long and dark series of missteps and--whoops! I'll not give anything away. I'll just say that Cristiel Estelwen knows little about what the outside world truly has to offer.

**Main Characters: **Cristiel (the OFC), Boromir, Aragorn, Galadriel, Legolas, Eomer, Eowyn, Gandalf, Elrond, Faramir, Denethor, etc, etc, etc, and so forth...

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Lord of the Rings, nor its people, places, events, and things, etc. It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien . . . for now =) Only Cristiel, Tawariel, Bregdor, and Aelodr belong to me.

--

**Book 1: The Fellowship of the Ring**

**Chapter I: Naivety and Inquiry**

Year 3018 of the Third Age  
October 20

The valley was alight in all its morning glory. Waterfalls glittered like streams of falling jewels and the sky shone clear radiant blue, a testament to the purity that surrounded Rivendell and set it apart from the outside world. Down below, from a tree-covered hillside near the river, came the sounds of vibrant female voices. A small group of sparrows fluttered away as two girls made their way carelessly down the steep incline, one tall and slender, the other petite and small of frame. Both were laughing and joking as they moved from tree trunk to tree trunk down the hill.

"I must say, Tawariel, you should not worry so about how much dirt gets under your fingernails," cried the petite girl as she leapt down the hill and caught herself on another wide trunk. "It will be washed out in time."

Tawariel brushed red hair from her face and gingerly stepped onto a flat place from behind her tree trunk. "Yes, in time, and that could be three weeks! With the ball coming up, I'd rather not dance with dirty fingernails."

"Seriously, is it really that important?" the petite girl said. "After all, who goes around and studies the accumulation of dirt in people's fingernails?"

Tawariel gave her friend a sideways glair. "Perhaps someone who is very particular, Cristiel."

"Ah hah! It _must_ be Lindir who you have set your pretty blue eyes upon." Cristiel grinned, feeling victorious at having finally found out her best friend's secret infatuation.

Tawariel sighed. "Yes, it is Lindir. But do not speak of it so loudly. It would be embarrassing for _anyone_ to find us in our current state."

"What? You mean you do not like the patches of dirt on my face?" asked Cristiel sarcastically. Then raising her voice, she cried out into the valley, "I would love to see you two together! What a happy couple you would make!"

Tawariel glared at her, but said nothing, then turned away, sputtering to herself. She turned again after she was through and put her hands on her hips. "What was it we came down here for in the first place?"

"Oh, I was going to show you a lovely spot for picnics by the river, but if you cannot stomach the dirt any longer, then we can just turn back—"

"No! No, we came all this way. Please show me."

"I am teasing you. Come on. It's just behind this stand of trees."

They pushed their way through thick underbrush and stumbled out into a clearing. It was a lush grassy hillock, situated within the light mist of a waterfall, with crystal clear water surrounding two sides and the river a third. A hidden oasis of natural beauty.

"Dear Valar! I've never seen anything quite like this before. It's beautiful." Tawariel turned to her companion. "How did you manage to find it?"

Cristiel collapsed into the soft grass. "I suppose when you have plenty of spare time to do what you wish, you have two choices. You could settle yourself safely and comfortably in a library and read to your heart's content, or you could go outside and enjoy the world that was created especially for you."

Tawariel smiled. "I do love your sense of adventure. I only wish I shared it."

Cristiel shrugged half-heartedly. "I suppose it runs in my family."

At this comment, they both burst out laughing.

"The last time—I saw your father—" Tawariel said between guffaws. "He looked like he—had deliberately rolled—through the mud."

Cristiel scrunched her nose. "That would be my father. He's off in the Wild as we speak, probably wallowing in the mud again." She made a sore attempt at holding back another series of banters.

A few minutes later the girls found themselves laying on their sides and clutching their stomachs. Every time they glanced at each other they giggled again, and uncontrollably. After several more minute, they were finally able to calm down, and Tawariel spoke. "Do you think they can hear us back in Imladris? We've been awfully loud."

"We shall find out when we return, aye?"

The elf nodded, a huge smile splitting her face. They sat in silence for sometime, simply enjoying each other's company. Then Tawariel had a thought. "How long have you been sword fighting?"

The question surprised Cristiel, and she cocked her head in thought. "About, oh... twelve years? Yes, twelve years I believe. I started when I was eleven years old."

"Dear Valar! You really do have audacious skills, you know."

Cristiel snorted and plucked at the grass. "Not by a long shot. I cannot sing, cannot sew. I cannot shoot. I can barely ride a horse. You think I am audacious for that?"

"For using a sword, yes. Not many women, especially human, can wield a blade quite like you do."

"Well thank you for the compliment, but I am not one to brag."

"Oh, believe me. I've watched you train with Elladan. You are audacious."

"You really love that word. Audacious. It reminds me of 'awe inspiring' and 'clumsy' all at once."

Tawariel laughed. "My vocabulary should thank my love of reading for that one."

They laughed louder.

The time passed without care, and Cristiel found herself waking up from a dream of distant lands, the bright sky above making her squint. The sun was at an early afternoon position, not yet two o' clock. Tawariel was resting by the side of the pool created by the waterfall, dangling her feet in the clear water, and Cristiel came to join her.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" asked the elf.

"Yes, I think. I don't even remember falling asleep. I suppose the perfect weather today might have had something to do with it."

Tawariel smiled. "I'll never understand how you Dunedain can suddenly fall unconscious, and then wake up later, on cue, and feel bright and refreshed. I shall never understand it!"

"And you have no need to. You are elf-kind. I am not. That is our only difference."

Tawariel raised an eyebrow. "I beg to differ."

"Alright, so we do have our differences. But opposites can attract too."

"Yes..."

They sat silent for a while, dangling their feet in the crystal clear pool and watching as tiny fish nibbled at their toes.

"Oh, I've just thought of something," said Tawariel.

"What is that?"

"Well, since you know about my—how shall I say it—pining for Lindir, I would love to know if _you_ have your eye on anyone, even an elf."

"I—well—I guess I have never really 'liked' anyone, if you take my meaning. Elves are just too... oh, I can't say it! It might hurt you."

"Please say it. Honesty is a wonderful trait, and I don't care how brutal."

Cristiel sent her friend a timid sideways look. "Elves are just too perfect."

Tawariel raised both of her eyebrows and sat quietly for a moment.

"I warned you."

Tawariel sighed. "Yes, you did. So if we elves are not quite to your liking, then perhaps you will meet a Man one day."

Cristiel laughed. "Yes, I shall one day marry a filthy ranger, not unlike my father, and we shall live together in the Wild, forever hunting wild beasts for our breakfast."

Tawariel made a face at her friend's humor. "There are other Men in this world besides those of the North."

"What makes you think I shall be venturing south anytime soon?"

Cristiel received no response.

"Tawariel?"

The elf was not paying attention to her. Her blue eyes were fixed on the distant cliffs where the path entrance into Rivendell was hidden. "Look," she pointed to a white blur along the distant cliff path. "Lord Glorfindel has returned, and he bears a small person with him." She stood and proceeded to climb back up the hillside.

"Tawariel, I don't have your elvish eyes. Are you bluffing?"

"No! Come with me. I want to see who is with him."

Cristiel reluctantly stood and followed her friend, who seemed very determined to get up the hill and back to Rivendell.

--

As they crested the top of the hill and stumbled into a garden near the Hall of Fire, Tawariel grabbed Cristiel's hand and pulled her behind, running towards the gates of Rivendell.

"Why are you so slow?" she asked her friend.

"Because I have just climbed an impossibly steep hill which I had originally underestimated," said Cristiel, panting and out of breath. "Why do you have to be so quick?"

Tawariel smirked and soon they came to the courtyard entrance of Rivendell. A large group of elves was standing in the center, surrounding Glorfindel and his great stallion, Asfaloth. They watched as the small person was lowered gently from the horse and carried away into Rivendell. He appeared to be unconscious.

"Oh dear," whispered Tawariel. "Something serious is going on. Look." She nodded at Lord Glorfindel. His face was unusually strained, his eyes were dark, and his long, golden hair tousled and dirty, with several braids coming undone.

"What did he get himself into?" muttered Cristiel. She had never seen the Balrog slayer in such disrepair before.

The elven lord dismounted his horse as the crowd of elves slowly dispersed, and noticed the girls. Leading Asfaloth behind, he came over to them and bowed, and they curtsied back. His face immediately loosened and the corner of his mouth rose as he surveyed their condition. Tawariel blushed when she realized just how messy she probably looked, but Cristiel did not think twice about it and went straight to the question.

"What happened to you, my lord? Who was the small person they carried from your horse?"

"Before I answer that, I would like to know what you two have been up to. You look rather... disheveled."

Tawariel looked at her friend in an irritated manner, and attempted to put her hair in order again. "Forgive us, my lord, but we were—"

"Exploring," finished Cristiel. "What have you been doing?"

The elven lord's face grew taut again. "I was on an errand for Lord Elrond. It was urgent business, and I cannot speak of it in the open." His blue eyes studied their faces intently, but the girls said nothing and simply smiled. Content they were satisfied with his answer, Glorfindel turned and led Asfaloth away. Then as if he remembered something else, he turned again and said from a distance, "Cristiel, try to practice a little restraint the next time you show yourself in public. For a young lady, you are a mess." And he disappeared around the side of a building.

Cristiel bit her lip and managed to contain another wave of laughter, while Tawariel just stared at her, shaking her head in an empathetic way. "My dear friend, when will you ever grow up?"

Cristiel gave her friend an amused look. "When will _you_ ever learn to have a little fun?"

--

October 23

Three days had gone by since Glorfindel had arrived with his mysterious, small passenger. On the third day, Cristiel became utterly impatient and promptly demanded from Elrohir what was going on. Just that morning, she had witnessed the arrival of many elves, dwarves, and Men, all whom she curiously watched from the safety of her balcony. Their arrival seemed to bring a new atmosphere to Rivendell, one that was both new and exciting and at the same time foreboding, but the source of the feeling she could not quite pinpoint yet. However, she had the sense that someone was not telling her something important. The first sign of this came when Tawariel knocked on her door around mid-morning, and instantly collapsed in tears on Cristiel's bed.

"What is wrong? I have never seen you cry so much. Did Lindir reject you?"

"No, no it's nothing like that. Nothing like that at all." Tawariel sniffed, rubbing her nose in a handkerchief. "Cristiel, have you felt it?"

"Felt what? Excited, or uneasy?"

"More than uneasy. Ever since Glorfindel arrived, I have felt a horrible burden on my heart and it will not go away and I do not know where it has come from. Nothing has changed, but I do not understand, and I can take it no longer." The elf buried her face in a pillow to muffle her sobs.

Cristiel sank into the bed beside her friend, unsure what to do. "You know, you are right. Perhaps I've not felt it as much, but it has been in the back of my mind. And with all the guests coming from all over Middle Earth, you would think someone would tell us what is going on, or at least help us understand these dark feelings that have crept into our minds."

Tawariel sat up, wiping her tear streaked cheeks. "That is exactly what must be done. Why don't we go find Elrond and ask him? At least we know he shall give us an honest answer."

Cristiel nodded. "That seems like the sensible thing to do. Thank you Tawariel. Do you mind if we go now?"

The elf stood up from the bed quickly and straightened her clothing. "Not at all!"

--

Elrond was Cristiel's grandfather, though she did not address him so. It was Elvish custom to call each other by name, regardless of relation and otherwise, so when she knocked on the door of his study she addressed him properly, calling through the ornately carved door.

"My lord Elrond, it is Cristiel. May I and Tawariel have a moment with you?"

The door opened swiftly, Elrond's face appearing next to it, nodding. They entered quietly and sat on a bench on one side of the room, waiting. The Lord was in deep conversation with an old man sitting adjacent to them, his back turned. He was dressed in a rough, faded robe, and his hair was long and gray. Cristiel suddenly recognized him and spit out his name, then clamped a hand over her mouth.

The old man turned slowly, his blue eyes squinting then brightening in recognition. He turned completely around and smiled at the girls.

"Dear Cristiel, you've grown since I last saw you. How long ago has it been... eleven years?"

Cristiel nodded. "I last saw you at Gilraen's funeral, yes. I was twelve."

Gandalf's face brightened even more. "That would make you twenty-three now. My, my, children do grow quickly, don't they Master Elrond?"

Cristiel frowned at the statement and promptly straightened. The wizard had a tendency to forget that the mind of a twenty-three year old was no longer that of a child's.

The half-elven lord raised his eyebrows and gave a curt nod. "Children of Men, yes. What was it you wanted, Cristiel?" He seemed to be in a sour mood this day.

"I, and Tawariel too, just wanted to ask you a question. We've both...ah..." She made a face, at a loss for words and nudged her friend's side.

"Ever since Lord Glorfindel arrived with the small person or child perhaps, we've both felt very uneasy and maybe even something foreboding. I personally have never felt anything like it before in Imladris. We just want to know what it is."

"And all the visitors," said Cristiel. "There must be many from all corners of Arda. My lord, what is going on that you are not telling us about? Is it that important that you must keep your mouth shut?"

Elrond's brow furrowed and he settled himself into his chair. "Yes. It is an extremely important matter that the two of you would do best to stay out of. The feelings you two have are real, but do not pay them any attention. A cloud of deception and evil has reached Imladris and I would hate for either of you to be hurt."

Tawariel sat silently, staring at the elven lord with wide eyes. After a minute of tense silence, she promptly stood. "I have heard enough. Come Cristiel. I do not want nightmares tonight. Let us leave."

"You may go, Tawariel, but I have more questions."

The elf gazed at her friend with mild shock, then curtsied and left the room. Elrond's eyes drifted to his granddaughter and his features hardened. "More questions? What could you possibly want to know of this matter? And, if you learn of it, will you keep your own mouth shut? It seems that is a very hard thing for you to do, so I would not take the matter lightly if I were you."

Cristiel sent a questioning glance to Gandalf, but the wizard returned the same grave look that Elrond did. She nodded slowly. "I want to know."

"Very well," Elrond said. "Do you know of the Rings of power?"

"Yes. There is a rhyme for them. Three Rings for Elven kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf lords in their halls of stone, Nine for mortal Men doomed to die, and One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne, in the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."

Elrond nodded and looked to Gandalf, who put aside his pipe. "That is not the entire verse," said the wizard. "There is more, and it is the most important part because it reveals the Dark Lord's plan."

Cristiel leaned forward. "There is more to it? Tell me."

The wizard was silent for a moment, grave as if remembering something, then he spoke. "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness, bind them."

Elrond said, "The One Ring was forged by the Dark lord in the fires of Mount Doom near the beginning of the Second Age. After a first war, He deceived the Men of Numenor into believing that He had redeemed himself, thus corrupting the King and eventually taking over command of Numenor itself."

"The servant of Morgoth," whispered Cristiel, remembering her history lessons. Suddenly an icy wind blew into the room through the open windows, snuffing candles and scattering papers, and a slight chill crept up her spine.

"Yes, that was his Master's name. Do not utter it ever again, not in Imladris," said Elrond. "Sauron has returned to Mordor and is already rebuilding his great fortress of Barad-dûr."

"But he was defeated at the end of the Second Age. Isildur cut the Ring from his hand, and he was defeated. How could he possibly—" She stopped. Elrond was rubbing his temple and Gandalf was sitting pensively, watching her with troubled eyes. "No, it cannot be," she whispered. "It was lost in the River Anduin."

"Lost, yes, but not forever," said Gandalf. "The Ring found it's way into the hands of a Hobbit named Bilbo."

"Bilbo Baggins! But he is here! What madness is this?" She stood up and paced to the other side of the room, wrapping her arms tightly across chest. "So the One Ring has been recovered, and Sauron is rising again in the East." She shook her head. "But how do you know that Sauron has not already taken the Ring?"

"Because it is here in Rivendell," said Gandalf. "And that is where it shall stay until it is decided what will be done with it."

Cristiel whirled, her face showing the slightest bit of fear that she failed to hide. "The Ring is here in Rivendell. Who brought it here?"

"Bilbo's cousin, Frodo Baggins. He arrived here with Glorfindel three days ago and at present is still laying unconscious in bed. He was stabbed by a Nazgul on Weathertop, and has barely kept his life," said Gandalf quietly. "I believe he and his companions were led by a certain ranger you may know as Aragorn."

"My father?"

Gandalf nodded.

"He is here?" She now stared at Elrond with her mouth agape. "Why do you not tell me these things? Do you know long it has been since I last saw him? Over ten years. I barely know him at all!"

"Aragorn arrived late last night, and fatigue took him quickly," said the half-elven lord. "I doubt he even woke for breakfast this morning."

"I would go to see him, but I have another question. Who are all of these visitors? I've seen many strange elves, and dwarves and men wandering about Imladris. Many of them seem to be dreadfully important persons."

"They are here for a council that is to take place in two days regarding the matters we just spoke of," said Elrond. "Representatives from all places in Middle Earth that still hold to things that remain good have come, and we will be discussing many matters, including that of the Ring."

"It is not an open council then?"

"No, Cristiel. You may not sit in and take part this time."

She nodded, disappointed, and sunk into a cushioned chair. "At least now I know why I have suddenly been feeling this way. It is hard to accept that this Evil still lurks. I almost do not want to."

"One way or another, every person in Middle Earth will have to face this Evil," said Gandalf. "Whether it be simply coming to grips with it or taking up a sword, everyone will be affected. The whole world will change."

"Thank you for telling me the truth now, instead of letting me find out the hard way later."

"Cristiel, I do not think those were Master Elrond's intentions."

"No, that was not what I had intended at all, forgive me. I did not think the time was right, but apparently, the time was right, and here you are now with full knowledge of this Evil. Whatever you do, do not speak openly of it in public places, less rumors should fly and scare many into believing fairy tales of dragons and other nameless things."

"I do need to learn to keep my mouth shut."

Elrond almost smiled. "Yes... I think you've kept us long enough. Why don't you go find Tawariel and assure her that everything will be just fine."

"Of course. Thank you for your time, my lord. And Gandalf, it was a pleasure to see you again."

"Always, dear girl."

She forced a smile to reassure them that she was not too deeply troubled by this news and quietly shut the door behind her. As she walked down the curved hall, she felt that the burden resting on her heart would remain there for quite some time.

--

October 24

Several uneventful days passed and Cristiel began to grow restless. The council was the next day, and she knew she was not allowed to sit in and listen, but her head told her it would be alright if she did a little eavesdropping. Perhaps she would gain a bit of useful information from the meeting, although, she decided, it would probably end up stretching out for several long hours and grow dull due to the number of foreigners that would take part. She said nothing of her idea to Tawariel and retired to her quarters early after dinner.

To her slight dismay, the elf came knocking on her door only a few minutes later. She let her in and they relaxed awhile, speaking of things that were truly of little importance to Cristiel. She listened half-heartedly to Tawariel's chatter about Lindir and the necklace he had given her the day before, and casually walked outside onto her small balcony. It overlooked the entrance to Rivendell, but was hidden among the trees so that some privacy was still afforded. There was only one spot on the far end that a person on the ground might see who was standing on the balcony, but this was a rare occurrence.

Night was falling. The sun was hidden almost exclusively behind the mountains surrounding the valley and a cool fog was settling, chilling the evening air with its humidity. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the sound of galloping hooves pounding steadily into the ground. She strained to see where they were coming from as the sound grew louder with each beat. Suddenly, a single horse and rider came through the gate at the entrance and halted in the courtyard, a blurry silhouette shrouded in gray mist. The rider dismounted slowly and watched as an elf led his horse away to the stables. She watched curiously as he was greeted by Elrond, then was led up some stairs and towards the living quarters.

Cristiel's mind leaped back to Tawariel as the elf placed herself in her line of sight, hands on her hips. "Are you listening to me? Or are you staring at Rivendell's most recent newcomer?"

Cristiel protested by pushing past her to the railing and was startled at once. The newcomer was completely visible now, standing on the staircase and engaging in conversation with Elrond. He was, in fact, a Man, tall and well built, his hair windblown and dark, framing his handsome features well. His rich clothes were stained with signs of rough travel, and an ivory horn trimmed in silver hung at his side.

"Cristiel, what are you doing? I am trying to talk to you!" said Tawariel, somewhat louder than she had intended. To Cristiel's chagrin, the elf's commotion had been heard in the courtyard, and the man glanced up for a source to the noise, his eyes landing on her. They held eye contact for a split second, then Cristiel turned away and ran inside her quarters, Tawariel following.

"Will you please answer me? What in Arda's name—"

"Tawariel, that man was extremely handsome, and I have never seen one more so. I am sorry for ignoring you, but to tell you the truth, I was mesmerized."

"Of course, for a few seconds. Very well. Find out who he is. You should meet him!"

"Don't be so rash! I would never dare approach a man on my own like you say. He would think me a whore!"

"You worry too much, Cristiel. Perhaps he shall notice you."

Cristiel gave her friend a sideways stare, then burst out laughing. She fell onto her bed and flung a pillow at her friend, who shrieked and flew at the girl in return.

Later, while sweeping away the feathers on the floor of her bedchamber, Cristiel made a mental note to collect a few newly stuffed pillows.

--

**2nd Author's Note:** Flame or don't. I think it's an improvement, but we shall see, eh? Oh and don't think I haven't fixed her Mary Sue-ish tendancies . . .


	2. The Council

**Author's Note:** Here's chapter two. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Lord of the Rings, nor its people, places, events, and things, etc. It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien . . . for now =) Only Cristiel, Tawariel, Bregdor, and Aelodr belong to me.

--

**Chapter II: The Council**

Year 3018 of the Third Age  
October 24

After that evening's meal, Cristiel finally managed to escape her friend's nagging long enough to get some well deserved peace and quiet. She stepped outside the doors of the dining hall and slowly ambled through Rivendell, eventually finding herself standing in a hallway situated snugly between two buildings. She walked a little ways towards an opening in the wall that offered a nice view of the valley and leaned on the railing, sucking in the cold night air. Behind her, a figure quietly approached and a familiar voice caused her to jump.

"You seemed to be in another world at dinner."

She gasped and turned, finding herself looking up at the man she hardly knew as her father. Aragorn's features were relaxed in a small smile, his gray eyes soft in the dim light.

"Oh... Aragorn, I did not see you at all tonight," she said quietly. Her hand awkwardly played with the hem of her sleeve. "Well, actually it's been a very long time since I last saw you... at all..." Her voice trailed off and she gave him an uneasy smile.

The ranger studied her face and his smile grew wider. He came close and enveloped her in a warm hug. "Much too long indeed," he said. "You are not the child I remember anymore, but a young woman."

Cristiel was not expecting this and slowly wrapped her arms around his chest. "Yes," she said absently.

He released her and leaned against the railing. "Your mother tells me that you have a sort of 'interest,' a pastime, now. Do elaborate."

"I..." She paused, not wanting to divulge to him what she was truly skilled at, afraid of his reaction, and so settled on the obvious. "I ride, constantly, everyday. It's a release for me, you see. It helps me deal with this need I have."

"What might this "need" be?"

Cristiel stared at the wall opposite them and sighed. "I want to leave this place and see the world, and never come back. That is all." She turned and gazed at her father. "However, at present, Elrond has kept me under rather tight restrictions, in my opinion, and so I am kept from even venturing far outside the gates of Imladris itself."

Aragorn's features tightened. "It is for your own good."

"I know, I know," she said in an exasperated manner. "I've heard that so many times, but I do not care, and I cannot stand it any longer."

"It seems these are things you have felt for a long time then."

"Yes, I have..." Cristiel stopped as her eyes trailed off of her father's face and onto another figure that was approaching in the darkness. As the man came into the dim light of the hallway, Cristiel straightened a little. It was the man who had arrived only hours ago on horseback. The man who had immediately caught her eye. Slightly embarrassed, Cristiel backed into a shadow behind her father, so the figure noticed Aragorn first.

"You are no elf," said the man with a smooth voice, accented slightly in a way Cristiel had never heard before.

Aragorn nodded his head in greeting. "Men of the South are welcome here."

The man seemed to relax. "Who are you then?"

"I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey."

"Then we are here on common purpose, friend."

Aragorn said nothing and moved to study a mural painted on the far wall. Cristiel frowned as her cover disappeared and quietly turned to leave, not wanting the small incident which occurred earlier to be brought up in this tranquil hour.

"Hello, lady. I did not see you."

She scrunched her nose in despair while her back was still to the man, then turned just her head to regard him. "Hello."

He bowed, his dark hair falling around his face. "May I ask your name?" His handsome features were just visible in the dim light, and a sparkle of green emanated from his eyes.

"I am Cristiel," she said quietly. "And yours?"

"I am Boromir of Gondor." His rich voice carried a hint of pride. He reached for her hand and began to lift it to his mouth. "May I?"

Cristiel did not know what to do, so she nodded and tried to smile. As his lips brushed the back of her hand, a shiver flew up her spine. Not the bad kind of shiver, like when you can feel something evil approaching, but the wonderful kind of shiver. The most wonderful feeling that something absolutely perfect has just occurred.

"'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Cristiel." He dropped her hand gently.

A yawn suddenly split her features and she covered her mouth, trying desperately to be polite.

Boromir took a step back. "Forgive me, I did not realize the time. I'll not keep you."

She curtsied and quickly disappeared into the night, wondering just what in Arda was the feeling that had coursed through her body with his lightest touch.

--

October 25

Morning came, the day of the council. Cristiel was determined to listen in somehow, regardless of what Elrond had said. Her rebellious side finally kicked in and she made her way quietly to the council area. It was tucked away in a secluded corner of Rivendell, enveloped by large, old trees, and surrounded by private buildings that usually remained for important meetings and affairs such as this.

As she came near to the council courtyard, she could hear many voices already, so she crouched down under a window next to an open doorway to allow for sound to reach her ears clearly while still keeping her presence there unknown. She waited for some time as more voices came from the courtyard, but she could not pick out individuals.

She was startled when she heard the soft patter of feet behind her, and she turned her head. It was one of the Hobbits who had accompanied Aragorn and Frodo when they came to Rivendell. Cristiel nodded in greeting and the stout Hobbit bowed, sliding under the window and to the floor next to her.

"I see we have the same idea," he whispered.

"Aye, but try not to make any noise. If they find us here..." Cristiel trailed off and rolled her eyes. "Oh, what does it matter? Just do not make any noise."

"Of course not! Now what's your name, miss? I don't think we've officially met."

"I'm Cristiel," she whispered.

"Lovely name! I'm Samwise Gamgee, a friend of Mr. Frodo's." He offered his hand to shake.

"Oh?" Cristiel perked up a bit and shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you then, Mr. Gamgee."

The Hobbit grinned. "You can just call me Sam."

"Sam it is," she whispered. She suddenly put a finger to her lips and nodded towards the courtyard.

Sam peered around her curiously. "Is it starting?"

Cristiel nodded silently and stared at the wall ahead of her. Elrond's voice was the first to be heard, ringing out across the courtyard distinctly.

"Strangers from distant lands. Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom."

There was a pause.

Sam said quietly, "Mordor? Isn't that an evil land far in the east?"

Cristiel said nothing.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo," came Elrond's voice again.

There was a long pause then a burst of murmurs and gasps as Cristiel guessed that Frodo had revealed the One Ring. Another voice then rose above the others, smooth and accented, and she recognized that Boromir, the man from Gondor, was speaking.

"In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the west a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: 'Doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found.' " He murmured again, "Isildur's Bane."

All at once, Gandalf and Elrond cried out furiously, and an ominous shadow covered the sky. The gray wizard's voice grew dark and terrible, and Cristiel grimaced as the harsh language echoed down the corridor.

"_Ash Nazg durbatulûk. Ash Nazg gimbatul. Ash Nazg thrakatulûk agh Burzum-ishi krimpatul!_"

There was a deathly quiet. Cristiel found it hard to breath again, while Sam next to her was shaking all over, his blue eyes wide in shock. Slowly, the light of the sun returned, and Elrond's voice broke the tension.

"Never before has anyone uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris."

"I do not beg your pardon, Master Elrond," came Gandalf's gruff voice. "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west. The Ring is altogether evil!"

"No!" said Boromir. "'Tis a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot weild it! None of us can."

Cristiel felt a surge of pride in her heart when her father spoke.

"The One Ring answers to Sauron alone," said Aragorn. "It has no other master."

"And what would a ranger know of this matter?" said Boromir with spite.

Cristiel clenched her fist and pressed it into the stone floor. How could this man say that about her father, who was the heir to the throne of Gondor itself? What did he know?

It seemed someone else had the same idea. "This is no mere ranger," came an elven voice. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Sam muttered in surprise and glanced up at Cristiel. Her eyes were glittering.

"Aragorn..." said Boromir, sounding rather surprised himself. "This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," said the elf.

Cristiel wanted to run out and hug whoever was defending Aragorn right then and there. Instead, she allowed a satisfied smile to creep onto her face. This Boromir had some things to learn, she decided.

"_Havo dad, Legolas,_" said Aragorn, sounding flustered.

"Gondor has no king," muttered Boromir. "Gondor needs no king."

"Aragorn is right," Gandalf said after a moment of quiet, his voice laced with frustration. "We cannot use use it."

Elrond spoke. "Then we have but one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

"Well what are we waiting for?" came an impatient, gruff voice. Probably a dwarf, thought Cristiel. A great noise like steel clashing on diamonds was heard, making her ears ring, and another growl came from the dwarf, then Elrond spoke again.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

Silence. Deep and utter silence. Cristiel could have heard an autumn leaf hit the ground. When Boromir spoke up, she sighed quietly in annoyance.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great eye is ever watchful. 'Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, and ash, and dust. The very air you breath is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" cried Legolas. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?!" Gimli shouted.

"And if you fail, what then?" Boromir said, incensed. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" growled Gimli. "Never trust an elf!"

The council erupted into cacophonous argument, with no direction whatsoever to the debate. Cristiel sighed and sunk lower against the wall. It seemed no one knew what to do with the Ring at this point.

The arguing and derision dragged on for several horrible minutes. It was only the small voice to which Sam pricked up his ears that kept Cristiel from standing up and yelling at the council herself.

"I will take it," said the voice again.

"That's Frodo!" Sam whispered.

Immediately, the arguing came to a sudden halt. Cristiel could almost see the incredulous stares the little Hobbit was surely receiving. Had he gone mad?

"I will take the Ring to Mordor," said Frodo, quieter this time. "Though, I do not know the way."

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear," said Gandalf.

"If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will," Aragorn said smoothly, and Cristiel covered her mouth to withhold a dismayed gasp. He continued, "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," said Legolas.

"And my axe," came Gimli.

Sam began to fidget next to her, tapping his foot against the stones, changing his position on the floor. Cristiel put a finger to her lips again, but the Hobbit could barely sit still.

Then Boromir spoke, his voice softer and more refined. "You carry the fates of us all, Frodo. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

Sam could take it no longer. "It's not right!" he hissed, and leapt up with a cry, racing into the courtyard. Without thinking, Cristiel jumped to her feet and yelled for him to come back, then quickly shut her mouth and regretted even listening in on the council. Sam had already planted himself next to Frodo, exclaiming, "Mr. Frodo's not goin' anywhere without me!"

Gandalf made some grumbling comment about Hobbits and separation, but all the attentions of the rest of the council were placed directly on Cristiel. She took a breath and clasped her hands in front of her, hesitated, then took a step out of the courtyard. She was a second too late, however.

"May I ask just what you are doing here?" Elrond asked, his expression showing plainly his utter distaste for the mishap that had just occurred.

Cristiel opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again and said plainly, "I was curious, my lord. And, also, my lord, I was rather bothered that you did not allow me to sit in as normal, so I decided to invite myself, if you do not mind." She scrunched her nose then, and sighed, realizing what she had said. A chuckle came from her right, and she glanced over to see Boromir's mouth curved in an entertained smile.

Elrond prepared to respond, but two more Hobbits came running out from another building without warning and planted themselves on either side of Sam and Frodo.

"We're coming too!" exclaimed one.

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" said the other.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest... thing," the first Hobbit stated.

"Well, that'd leave you out, Pip."

"Enough!" said Elrond sharply. "I will speak with you in twenty minutes," he said to Cristiel. "And you..." the elf lord shook his head, turning to the Hobbits. "It is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and the rest of you are not!"

Cristiel backed away into the shadow of the building where she had previously been hiding, and waited for the council to disperse. She watched until most of the members had gone, then stepped into the open again, almost twenty minutes later. Boromir was conversing forcefully with her father to the side, and as she went by them, he grinned at her for half a moment. She averted her eyes and approached Elrond. His brow drew tight, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"What were you thinking, Cristiel?" he said in a lowered voice. "You intruded directly into the middle of a council to which you were not formally invited."

"Technically speaking, it was Sam, not I, who disrupted things," she said quietly, biting the inside of her cheek. "But I am sorry. It was not my place."

"Why do I sense that there is more you are not telling me?"

"What? Oh, you mean... no, no..." Cristiel let her eyes drift upwards to the blue sky above and she slowly nodded. "Yes, I wanted to know more about the Ring."

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "You may tell me the truth."

She stared at him, swallowed, and spoke quickly. "I wish to go on the quest."

Elrond closed his eyes, and behind her, Aragorn and Boromir ceased their conversation and both stared at her. She glanced at them and shrugged. "What? It's the truth! I want to leave this place and see the world, and this is my chance."

Elrond opened his eyes, letting them bore painfully into Cristiel's dark eyes. "I should not even be considering this, but... I shall think on it for one month, then I shall tell you whether or not you will go. Meanwhile, I want you to keep this quiet."

Cristiel smiled and briskly nodded, then turned and swiftly left the courtyard, escaping the piercing green gaze of the man from Gondor.

--

October 27

The rich smells of freshly baked bread wafted throughout Rivendell, causing the Hobbits to scurry directly to the kitchens. Though it was almost time for dinner, Cristiel herself could not help but break a bit off a hot loaf, quietly sneaking away under the cover of the hungry noises coming from the Halflings. She came out onto a veranda and popped the piece into her mouth, shutting her eyes for a second, savoring the soft, tangy morsel as it melted on contact.

Upon opening her eyes, she found herself face to face with Boromir. The Gondorian rested one hand on a nearby railing, and Cristiel felt very awkward as she chewed her mouthful of fresh bread. She curtsied and smiled with lips closed.

"It seems the kitchens of Rivendell have been appointed the most excellent elvish cooks," he said.

She nodded and swallowed the soft lump. "Yes my lord, we do eat well here." She crossed her arms. "But I am sure that is not what you wished to speak to me about."

"No," he grinned. "Truthfully, I found your appearance at the council amusing. Did you plan on that?"

Cristiel sighed. "No, I was not even thinking when I jumped up. I still feel quite stupid for it."

"But 'tis obvious that you believe you have some ability to aid Frodo on his quest?"

"Perhaps," she said indicatively. "Or maybe I just want to make my own decisions."

"You are rather strong willed for a woman."

"To be straightforward, I would rather live free on my feet, than die safe and closed off from the world."

"The feeling is mutual, my lady, from even the time I was a child. However, something every young lady must have is a proper respect for authority. You are treading on dangerous ground."

"That may be, but I will not change myself to fit the standards of another."

"Then I would very much like to see what you are capable of. How does the idea of a friendly spar sound to you?"

"I think I would enjoy that. But early tomorrow, before anyone is awake."

"Aye," Boromir said, raising an eyebrow. "Where will I meet you?"

"At the training grounds, near the guest quarters."

"Very well. Do not come unprepared."

Cristiel opened her mouth and gave him a hard look, but she knew better than to retort. His features sparkled and he turned and ambled casually away down a path.

--

October 28

Cristiel woke extra early and readied herself quickly for the friendly duel. She was dressed in a tunic suitable for brisk physical activity and her sword was sheathed in the belt at her waist, along with two elven knives which Elladan had given her on her twentieth birthday. The cool morning air was damp with fog, and strands of hair stuck to her neck as she pulled most of it into a loose tie behind her head. As she reached the training grounds she could see that Boromir was already there and waiting for her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed blade. He looked her up and down and nodded welcome.

"I see you have come prepared, little one."

She frowned at him. "Now I am _little one_? Whatever happened to my given name?"

"'Tis fitting," he smirked. "You were taller in a dress, although I must admit that garb suits you nicely."

"I am not even close to the size of a Hobbit, if that's what you mean, so stop that nonsense and let's get on with this."

The man raised a dark eyebrow as the corner of his mouth inched upward. "Very well."

Cristiel waited as he stood unmoving across from her, and she squinted at him, confused. Without warning, he whipped his longsword from its sheath, and placed it gently to her neck.

"Ai! What is this? I was not ready!"

"In a real battle, the enemy will not wait. I suggest you follow suit." Boromir lowered his sword and took a step back, his features betraying his amusement.

Cristiel slowly unsheathed her sword. Holding it out steady, she made eye contact with him, ready to make a move, but he made the first swift move once again, this time downward at her legs. She blocked it easily. He brought his sword easily around to her right side, and she blocked it again. She focused on anticipating his strikes as they came, each one steadily increasing in speed and intensity.

_Up swing left. Step right!_ Elladan's instructions echoed in her mind. She leaned ambitiously into her swings, and Boromir took a few steps backwards, not breaking his own strokes. He was allowing her to push him back.

"Good, good!" he said. "Remember to always be ready for a surprise."

He swung his blade right at her, and Cristiel jumped to the left, dodging the blow which would have sliced her arm off had he been the enemy. She ducked another hard swing and stumbled as she leapt away from a third stroke. His swing came closer than she had anticipated and her sword was knocked out of her hand. It tumbled away to the dirt, too far for her to retrieve, and she felt the flat of his blade tap her side.

"Careful, little one. You must always be on your toes."

Cristiel glared at him. She took a breath and pulled out her two knives, ducking another swift swing. She barely blocked his sword thrice more, her breathing becoming more labored. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Suddenly, she saw an opportunity and ran forward. She dodged a swing that was aimed close to her head, whirled around, and found herself holding both of her knives to Boromir's neck.

They stood unmoving. Her dark eyes stared up at him in satisfaction as a bead of sweat trickled down her neck. Her lips were parted and her chest rose and fell steadily as she breathed hard, recovering from the brief yet brisk workout. Boromir laughed coolly, gazing down at her unreadably through veiled green eyes.

"Excellent spar," he said.

The corner of her mouth rose slightly and she lowered her weapons from his neck. Suddenly her face grew pale and the sparkle disappeared from her eyes. Her features tightened, her knives slipping from her hands and silently falling to the dirt.

"I see you have skill with the blade, Cristiel," said Aragorn from the edge of the training ground.

Cristiel watched silently as he approached them, and Boromir glanced curiously at them both. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

Aragorn stood over his daughter soberly and folded his arms across his chest. "Not at all. Would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Very well," Boromir said, sheathing his sword. He glanced questioningly at Cristiel, but she shook her head and he quickly left the area without another word.

She tried not to cringe under her father's steel gray eyes. Her voice quavered. "Are… are you—?"

"Angry? No." He finished her question without a second thought, then raised an eyebrow. "I am disappointed, however, because you chose to keep this hidden from me. And now I ask: why?"

"I thought… maybe…" Cristiel let her eyes wander as she tried to think of a reply. "Fighting is what I know how to do. There's nothing else," she finally blurted out.

Aragorn's eyes softened, but his brow furrowed. "When you were born, I requested that you live among the elves, to learn their ways and stay away from the perils of the world. I had hoped you would become a gracious young woman and learn the skills needed to raise a family. I did not wish for you to become a fighter."

"Forgive me for not being more open, but this is who I am."

"But why this?" Aragorn motioned to her sword lying in the dirt nearby. "Why not at least something more fitting for a woman? Why not archery?"

"To be honest, I don't have a steady hand. But I _can_ ride well."

Aragorn shook his head, his eyes suddenly shooting daggers at her. "Here is what I truly wish to know: why did you request to join the Fellowship?"

"I want to see the world, Aragorn! All my life I have been sheltered and refused access outside of Imladris, and this is my chance to be rid of it. I want to see new places and visit the countries of Men, but at present I can do naught but sit and read, or ride through the valley. I'm a grown woman now and I ought to have a say in what I do with my life."

"Now I understand. Listen to me. Much will change. If, and _only_ if Elrond does allow you to leave, you must be prepared." He gazed at her closely. "And you are not to hide this from anyone anymore. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

He gazed at her for another second, then promptly turned on his heel and strode away. She stood alone, under the trees, and breathed a sigh of relief. She had half expected him to relieve her of her weapons in a fuming rage, but perhaps she did not know her own father well enough to predict his reactions. She slowly retrieved her weapons from the dirt and let the clumps of soil slide from the blades before returning them to their sheaths. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, confident that Aragorn would begin to understand her with time, and went off to find something to occupy her restless hands.

--

**Translations:**

_Ash Nazg durbatulûk. Ash Nazg gimbatul. Ash Nazg thrakatulûk agh Burzum-ishi krimpatul!_ --- "One Ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them."

_Havo dad._ --- "Sit down."


	3. Dancing Butterflies

**Author's Note:** Here is the third chapter, though not as long as the two previous. Enjoy! And please, please review so that I can know what you think of it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Lord of the Rings... yet. Muahahahaha! But seriously, only Cristiel, Tawariel, Bregdor, and Aelodr belong to me.

--

**Chapter III: Dancing Butterflies**

Year 3018 of the Third Age  
October 29

Morning came swiftly the next day, and Cristiel woke with a growling stomach and two sore arms. She dressed in a plain sage colored dress and pulled a section of her dark hair back from each side of her face, letting the rest fall loosely down her back. Stepping outside, she took in a relaxing breath of crisp autumn air and headed towards the dining hall. As she came around one side of the living quarters building, she saw Boromir casually leaning against a nearby railing.

"Lord Boromir," she called, giving a small wave.

"Good morning, my lady." He bowed his head in greeting and surveyed her from the small distance that still separated them. "You look taller again."

"I suppose it is the dress," she said, smiling. "'Tis a fine morning."

"Aye, a very fine morning indeed. Shall I escort you to breakfast?" His green eyes glittered as he extended his arm.

She warily accepted his offer, and they walked towards the dining hall. At first they did not speak, but curiosity got the best of Boromir.

"What happened yesterday concerning Aragorn? He seemed…"

"Irritated?"

Boromir nodded.

"I think it would be best if we did not speak of it."

"As you wish."

They continued on in awkward silence, and Cristiel's stomach growled again.

"Hungry?"

Cristiel grinned. "Very."

Boromir chuckled.

Aragorn happened to glance up just as the pair entered the bustling hall, and he watched curiously as Cristiel left Boromir's side with haste, seating herself amidst several elves. Boromir took a seat nearby.

The meal began and conversation filled the hall. Hearty laughter came from Gimli's end of the table where the Hobbits were seated. At one point, Tawariel nudged Cristiel's side and raised her eyebrows. "Someone is staring at you," she whispered.

Cristiel glanced at Boromir, whose eyes immediately dropped to his plate, and she returned Tawariel's surprised look but said nothing. Then the unfamiliar blonde elf sitting to her left introduced himself.

_"Suilaid arwen en amin. Eem Legolas Thranduilion."_ The elf took her hand in his, and kissed it.

Cristiel smiled. _"Saesa omentien lle. Nin estar Cristiel_, and I prefer to speak Westron."

Legolas grinned, his bright blue eyes sparkling. "Of course, forgive me. You are Aragorn's daughter, correct?"

Her mouth was full of food, but she nodded silently.

Someone's fork clattered to the floor and she glanced at Boromir again. He was staring at her once more, but this time in shocked disbelief.

--

Cristiel hastily finished the remainder of her meal and left the dining hall before most everyone else. She hoped to escape from the prying questions she knew were coming, but Boromir obviously had other ideas. He appeared in front of her without warning as she ambled down a passageway, and she curtsied and attempted to step around him to continue on her way.

"Wait, little one."

Cristiel felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She turned and he swiftly pulled her into an empty side room, shutting the door quietly, his eyes burning with interest.

"_You_ are Aragorn's daughter!"

"If that was what you heard me tell Legolas, then yes."

"I did not hear you say it—"

"Oh, of course not. Silly me! Because I simply nodded to him, and you happened to be staring at me."

"I was not staring at you, per say. I happened to glance over just as you responded."

"Oh, I am sure I can believe that," said Cristiel, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Listen to me!" Boromir squeezed her shoulder. "Because you are Aragorn's daughter, you are an heir of Isildur. This puts your life in grave danger if you travel with the Fellowship."

"I am aware of the risks, Boromir, but the benefits greatly outweigh them."

"And what would those be?"

"You know what they are! I understand why I have been forced to stay here, for the sake of my life, but . . ."

Boromir tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. "The world is changing rapidly. 'Tis becoming more dangerous with each passing day."

"The fact that the outside world is becoming a more dangerous place is nothing new to me, and it does not deter me any less. In fact, it gives me even more reason to leave."

Boromir's brow furrowed, his green eyes showing no sign of his thoughts. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed deep into her eyes. "If I were the one making the decision, I would, without a doubt, permit it. But I am not your father. Misled as he might be in other things, he and Lord Elrond have the final authority in this."

The fervor in Cristiel's eyes faded, but Boromir was not finished.

"However, I do think you should be allowed to venture outside the borders of this place. After all, you are twenty-three, and a grown woman."

"Then pray that Lord Elrond agrees with you," said Cristiel quietly, as an easy smile formed on Boromir's lips.

--

October 30

Cristiel found herself wandering aimlessly down a secluded garden path the next afternoon. Her encounters with Boromir were growing in number. Just that morning, he had escorted her to breakfast, and to all three meals the day before. She was fond of him, as the only person she knew who truly understood her. With that in mind, she wondered if he would listen to anything she told him. He had seemed willing the day before.

She found it ironic when he came strolling down the same path towards her. When he spotted her, a warm smile flooded his face, but he still bowed respectfully.

"My lady, it is nice to see you again."

Cristiel shook her head. "Please, you do not have to call me that. Just Cristiel."

Boromir raised an eyebrow. "As you wish." To her surprise, he wrapped his arm about her own and they began to stroll casually through the garden. "I would like to apologize for my conduct yesterday," he said after a moments silence.

"Pardon?"

"I lied when I told you I had just glanced at you at the right moment. I had been staring you."

"Well, I sort of figured that. But I should be the one apologizing. I responded to you in the worst way possible: sarcasm."

"'Tis not necessary."

"But it is. I'm dreadful at being forthright and honest in a . . . calm manner. I really need to work on it."

Boromir smiled. "No one is perfect, but you are forgiven."

"Thank you. You as well."

Arm in arm, they went on nonchalantly, both giving little thought to the outside world and who could be watching them. While Boromir was enjoying the easy jaunt, Cristiel's mind was a nervous mess.

Her thoughts raced about, trying to decide whether to strike up a conversation or simply enjoy the peace and quiet. She succeeded in hiding her feelings, but something leapt within her, as if her stomach were full of butterflies. She suddenly realized what was happening and she was not sure if she could remain comfortable with it. She glanced up at him quickly and her butterflies soared, sending a flutter through her heart. The way the afternoon sunlight fell on his features was attractive, lighting his eyes so they glittered like smoothly crafted emeralds. She turned away again before he caught her staring, her breath catching in her throat as she remembered.

There was a ball in ten days.

--

November 10

The days leading up to the ball passed so quickly, Cristiel felt as though she had skipped them altogether. Every time she thought about Boromir, her butterflies did backflips and her heart did somersaults. She found herself fretting over whether she should dance with him at all, as he was sure to ask her to. Tawariel insisted she must not pass up any opportunity, but take everything in stride.

"I believe he has taken a liking to you over the past weeks," she said after the mid-day meal on the day of the ball. "I suggest you make up your mind on whether or not you will have him."

Cristiel stood up suddenly from her bed. "What in Arda's name are you thinking!? Do you really think that it possesses me to dance with a man almost twice my age?"

Tawariel blinked and shrugged. "I've read that, in Gondor, that is the norm. He is rather handsome, you know, for a Man."

Cristiel sighed and collapsed back into her bed, staring at the ceiling. "He is not just 'rather handsome,' Tawariel," she said quietly. "He is the most handsome man I've ever met. His eyes are green like the trees in summertime, and his build..." she laughed. "Let me just say that I've averted my eyes more than twice just to keep myself from drooling." She giggled this time and Tawariel laughed.

"Then you must dance with him tonight, and see what becomes of it."

"Yes," she said slowly, "but I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what? Stepping on his foot?"

"No, it's not that." Cristiel sat up. "Boromir is going with the Fellowship, and my place with the Fellowship has not officially been decided yet. If he leaves and we've... you know..." She lay back again and groaned.

"If he leaves and you've what? Kissed? Dear Cristiel, if that happens, I shall make certain that you never leave that man's side, Eru help me. And perhaps, if you decide not to further the relationship, then your life will be the same as it always was. Simple and safe."

"But that's just it! I don't want just a simple and safe life, Tawariel. I want to see the world! You know that."

Tawariel took Cristiel's hand and squeezed it gently. "I know you've wanted to leave for a long time. You've only ever ventured over the mountains to visit Lorien. But I cannot understand this need you have for adventure."

"And you probably will never understand it," she sniffed.

"Well, we cannot just sit here and mope around all day, now can we? Sit up, and we shall fix you up for tonight."

"Right. What about you?"

"Cristiel, I am perfectly able to take care of myself. However, you are another matter entirely, and you know it too."

Cristiel shrugged, giving her friend a sheepish grin. "Just don't pick out anything too frilly or garish. Please."

--

Night fell, and Cristiel had more butterflies in her stomach than when she first galloped a horse at the age of seven. She could hear music already beginning and the sounds of laughter echoed throughout the valley, all cascading gently from the Hall of Fire. She took a deep breath and began to walk towards the sound.

Upon entering the Hall, she chose to go directly to her parents. Aragorn and Arwen were deep in conversation, sitting on a long padded bench that lined one of the long walls. They immediately noticed her, and Aragorn stood with a smile.

"You look lovely tonight, daughter. But where is your friend?"

"Oh, she is over there," she said, pointing across the Hall, "with Lindir."

Arwen smiled knowingly and patted the seat next to her. "Sit with me. Your father has business to attend to elsewhere," she said, giving a half smile to her husband, who returned a knowing look and disappeared within the throng.

"Now," she took Cristiel's hands in her own. "What is troubling you? You are white as a cloud. A shining one I might add."

"'Tis Boromir. I cannot bring myself to dance with him, and I dearly hope he does not find me here."

"But why avoid him if he is interested in you, daughter?"

"Because he is almost forty years old, and much too handsome for me."

Arwen's blue eyes glittered. "Since when has age stopped your father and I from loving each other?"

Cristiel sighed. She had a point. Her mother was over two thousand years older than Aragorn, but they certainly loved each other to bits. She took a breath and leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Naneth, I've never been with a man before. I do not know what to say to him at an occasion like this, or how to act. He's a Gondorian lord, and I am just a girl."

"You are a young woman, Estelwen. Follow your heart, and it will lead you where you need to go."

Cristiel gazed out over the dancers, all young elvish couples, their faces alight with love and joy. She had never felt the need to restrain herself like this, and it was a strange feeling indeed.

"Go, daughter. Find your friend, and love will find you."

She stood up, fiercely biting her lip, her hand slipping from Arwen's grasp. She swallowed and made her way carefully to the other side of the Hall, dodging servers and dancers along the way. Tawariel was standing alone at that moment, staring at Lindir.

"Oh, isn't this glorious Cristiel? Look at all the dancers, and Lindir, he is dancing with his younger sister." Tawariel sighed. "I've already danced thrice with him, and now I cannot take my eyes off of him."

"I can see that," Cristiel said blandly. She was too busy keeping an eye out for Boromir that she did not notice Legolas come up to her. She jumped as he touched her hand and she curtsied respectfully.

"Would you care to take the next dance with me?" asked the elf prince. "I am at a loss for a worthy partner."

Cristiel smiled. "Of course I will dance with you."

The song ended, and she walked with Legolas onto the dancing floor with several other couples. They took their places and the music began, rich and flowing quickly, like a brook bouncing down a mountainside. She melted into the music, whirling about gracefully and totally at ease with Legolas as her dancing partner. The line of dancers formed a canopy, and each person ran under it and whirled about to the other side, then taking the hand of their partner and swirling about once more. Before she knew it, the song ended, and she curtsied to him, a little out of breath.

"That was lovely dancing, Cristiel. Thank you."

She grinned. "I do enjoy that song very much."

Legolas bowed and disappeared into the crowd in search of another partner, leaving Cristiel alone on the side to watch the dancers during the next song. It was a very lively number, and several couples were laughing out loud as they passed and swayed. She laughed out loud herself as she watched Elrohir pull the elf maiden he was dancing with closer and kiss her cheek in the middle of the dance.

"I must say, Cristiel, you very much enjoyed yourself dancing out there."

Her butterflies flipped and soared inside her, and she whirled, her heart leaping in her chest. His voice was like smooth velvet, gentle and deep. His lips formed a charmed smile, and his green eyes sparkled in the light of the Hall. Cristiel opened her mouth but could not find her voice for a second.

"Uh . . ." she stuttered. "That was my favorite song."

Boromir nodded. "In Gondor, we have similar songs, with almost identical dances. How many have you danced this night?"

"Oh, just, just one," she said quietly.

"Only one dance?" he said curiously.

His hand brushed hers and she felt her arm get all tingly as her heart shivered warmly in her chest. She stole a gaze across the Hall and saw her mother watching her with an encouraging smile on her face. She licked her lips and attempted to calm her quick breathing.

"Will you take the next dance with me?" Boromir was gazing intently at her, his dark hair framing his face perfectly, his features expectant, waiting for her answer.

She swallowed. "I, um..." She took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Of course I will take the next dance with you," she said quickly, surprised at the pleasantness of her voice.

"Excellent! You appeared such a wonderful dancer, I could not refuse to ask you."

His smile made her insides melt again. How could he be so handsome? She blinked and removed her eyes to the dancers in front of them.

Only seconds later it seemed that the song ended and it was time for the next. She smoothly took her place on the floor across from Boromir, curtsied, and the song began. It was a moving melody, slow and methodical. She whirled around him properly, unsure of what he would do. When they came to a closer part in the dance, her heart jumped as his hands fell to her waist, and she spun out of them precisely in time with the music. His touch was gentle and she came not to mind it. As the song crescendoed, the passion in his dancing seemed solely driven by sight of her. His emerald eyes never left her face, and more than once she caught him smiling at her. He was driving her mad as he tugged patiently on the strings of her heart.

They danced for what seemed like an eternity, swirling about each other as everything else seemed to fade away. No words were spoken. They simply watched each other, their hands grazing every now and again, and they whirled across the dance floor, falling in and out at a steady pace.

Then the music ended and they promptly paid their respects to each other. Cristiel attempted to escape in the throng, but she spun around as Boromir caught her hand and pulled her gently back to him.

"I simply wanted to tell you that you look beautiful tonight."

And with that he let her hand go. She stepped briskly away and towards Tawariel, her eyes wide and her mouth attempting to form a grin but not sure if it should gape instead.

Tawariel grinned as Cristiel grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. She was breathing erratically.

"Tawariel, he is amazing. I do not know what to say."

"You could thank me for dressing you up so."

Cristiel's dark eyes darted around the room and she blushed as she saw that Boromir was watching her.

"His eyes, they are absolutely gorgeous. His manners impeccable, but his air is respectful and almost doting. Tawariel, is my face red?"

The elf shook her head, her eyes blank. "Not at all," she lied.

Cristiel nodded. "Good. I need some fresh air." She dragged Tawariel out of the Hall of Fire and into the cold night, promptly collapsing onto the railing of an overlook. She placed a hand over her heart and stared at her friend.

"Cristiel, are you alright?"

"I think I am falling for him," Cristiel breathed. Her knees were literally shaking. "I cannot get him out of my mind. It is as if he was always there, just waiting for me. Tawariel, get me something to drink."

"Something strong, dear?"

"No! Just punch..."

The red haired elf melted back into the crowds of the Hall, and Cristiel sank onto a bench just outside of the light emanating from the doors. She leaned her head back to gaze at the stars above and uttered a prayer to Eru.

Tawariel appeared again, and handed her a cup full of milky liquid. "I believe it is something similar to milk, but it has a tart flavor and it makes me pucker up just so," she laughed.

Cristiel downed it in one swift gulp. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, then grabbed her friend's hands gently. "Tawariel, I swear, I am in love."

"With Boromir?"

"With Boromir."

Tawariel squealed and put a hand on her friend's face. "You must dance with him again. He will be expecting it."

Cristiel rolled her eyes and stepped into the light of the doorway. "Please, do not go treating this as some flirtatious escapade. He is a Man, and I am just a young woman. I am not an elf, and neither is he, so some maturity is required. Why don't you go find Lindir? I'm sure he's missing you."

Tawariel frowned for a second, then realized what Cristiel meant and with a smile, pushed her way into the crowd. Cristiel watched her go, then confidently stepped into the Hall in search of Boromir. She was itching for another dance.

--

**Translations:**

_Suilaid arwen en amin._ --- "Greetings, my lady." [unfamiliar]

_Eem Legolas Thranduilion. --- "_I am Legolas, son of Thranduil."

_Saesa omentien lle. --- _"Pleasure to meet you."

_Nin estar Cristiel._ --- "They call me Cristiel."


	4. Reason, Reluctance, and Resolve

**Author's Note:** Phew! That was a rather long hiatus. Here's a huge SORRY! to all the readers, and an extra long chapter to boot. Always remember to review or flame, whichever you prefer.

**Disclaimer:** Cristiel, Tawariel, Bregdor, and Aelodr belong to me. Everything else I'm just "borrowing" from Tolkien.

--

**Chapter IV: Reason, Reluctance, and Resolve**

Year 3018 of the Third Age  
November 25

It was only a day after the ball when Boromir and Cristiel began meeting each other regularly in a secluded garden. They enjoyed walking arm in arm, chatting about the world, about their families, and about each other. Often their visits consisted of no talk at all and nothing more than just being together, which they relished. Cristiel soon found herself thinking of him at almost every waking moment. The butterflies that had previously occupied her stomach had vanished, but her heart did not cease to flutter whenever she was with him.

The days went by as any other days might, the only difference being Boromir's presence. She tried to forget about the extremely likely possibility that Elrond would refuse to allow her to leave Rivendell with the Fellowship. The very idea of Boromir leaving made her stomach sink. She could not admit it out loud to him yet, but she had feelings for him that grew stronger with each passing day. Tawariel even insisted that he shared her feelings, and Cristiel hoped her friend was right.

Two weeks passed. It had been a month since the council, and it would be time for Elrond to give her his verdict. When Cristiel finally received the summons to her grandfather's study, her stomach flipped and sunk all at once, but Boromir encouraged her.

" 'Tis rather simple, Cristiel. Whatever is meant to happen, will happen."

After these words, he gave her a playful nudge and she swiftly went in the direction of Elrond's study, biting her bottom lip until she tasted blood.

She entered quietly and sat on the edge of a simple padded chair, her heart thudding in her chest so loudly that she was afraid Elrond's elvish ears would hear. He was seated in his usual place, his features tight yet resolved. Cristiel desperately wanted to beg for an answer now, but she knew that doing so would get her nowhere with the half-elven lord. Finally, after a full minute of tense silence, he straightened and rested his arms on the table in front of him, lacing his fingers.

"Cristiel, throughout the course of this past month, I have witnessed your interactions with the man from Gondor. I know of your feelings for him and his for you. I realize that if you are separated from each other because of this quest, it is most likely that neither of you will see the other ever again."

He paused, his brow furrowing as he drifted into his own thoughts. Cristiel shifted impatiently in her seat.

Elrond looked up again. "I tell you this only because I made my decision just one week after the council. I had firmly decided that nothing would cause me to allow you to risk your life for something that might never come to fruition in the first place." He sighed, massaging the thin lines in his forehead. "However, it appears that I am not as hard-headed as some think me to be."

Cristiel felt herself stiffen, and she leaned forward curiously. "What do you mean, my lord?"

Elrond tilted his head to the side, something glimmering in his eyes. "It seems that the Lady Galadriel has something in mind for you. She paid a visit to my thoughts just yesterday and convinced me that it is in your best interest to go with the Fellowship. Of course this still baffles me, but I can hardly go against the word of the Lady of the Galadhrim, the one who bore my love..."

"Galadriel changed your mind?" Cristiel said, dumbstruck.

"Yes, and I pray that this was not her first mistake," said Elrond. "Therefore, I must give you my—or rather _her _answer—now."

He paused again, allowing both of them a moment to collect themselves.

"Yes?"

"I will allow you to join the Fellowship."

Immediately, she leapt up and scooted around the table, wrapping the half-elven lord in a ridiculous and genuine hug. "Thank you! Thank you!" she cried. Then she quickly let him go, pulled herself up, and smoothed her dress, composing herself once again. "My lord, you have no idea how happy I am! I have dreamed of this for so long, but I never thought—"

"Estelwen, there is but one condition I wish you to hold to."

Cristiel stopped and eyed the half-elven lord impatiently. "What is that?"

"You must never, ever leave the sight of your father. You are his heir to the throne of Gondor, should he ever choose to reclaim it. If something happened to you, he would surely look to me as the culprit. I pray nothing befalls any of the Fellowship, however you are the likeliest target, being a woman. Therefore, I advise you stay close to Aragorn, or Boromir for that matter. But I am sure that will not be hard for you."

"No, my lord." Cristiel said breathlessly. She could barely contain her joy.

Elrond nodded. "Good. I suggest you go prepare for the journey. Perhaps Elladan might be willing to give you further training." He raised an indicative eyebrow.

Cristiel hurried to the door. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!" And she left the study quickly, racing through Rivendell to find Boromir.

--

She found him at the training grounds, sparring with the younger Hobbits, Pippin and Merry. She gave little regard to their bare swords swinging wildly through the air and practically launched herself at Boromir, who dropped his own sword and held onto her arms in surprise.

"Cristiel, you are positively glowing! What has happened?"

"Elrond has given me permission to go with the Fellowship. We do not have to be parted!"

She heard the Hobbits snicker behind her, but her eyes did not leave Boromir's. A grin slowly appeared on his face and he laughed.

"This is wonderful news! But how will your father take it?"

"Oh," she said quietly, her positive countenance disappearing. She frowned. "I had not thought about that. I hope—" She stopped and shrugged, urging the smile back onto her face. Changing the subject, she said, "Elrond suggested I ask his son, Elladan, for some more training."

"In swordsmanship?" Boromir nodded. "It would do you some good. Not that you aren't capable, but there is always room for improvement, no?"

"Naturally," Cristiel replied, turning and moving slowly away from the training ground. "I am going to find him now."

"Then I will see you later?"

"Of course! At dinner."

Boromir smiled and nodded farewell, then turned back to the Hobbits who were impatiently waiting, swinging their swords erratically through the air.

Cristiel grinned broadly to herself, ecstatic at the possibility that her life could very well change for the better, very soon.

--

December 24

The days passed by quickly, and soon turned into weeks, until almost another entire month had passed. Cristiel's training in swordsmanship from Elladan soon became training in swordsmanship from Boromir. He had always stood to the side, watching her train, until he came to replace Elladan. The elf did not seem to mind and every now and then winked at Cristiel when he passed by. Her uncle was rather irritating when it came to relationships, though she found it humorous and usually played along.

When Aragorn heard of Elrond's decision for Cristiel, he was at first angry. He had been consulted by no one on the matter, and at that time, would have adamantly refused. However, when she relayed to him her conversation with the half-elven lord, including the bits that involved Galadriel, he seemed to have had a change of heart. Though reluctant still, and knowing the dangers involved with the quest, he saw it as a serious opportunity for his tomboyish daughter to move outside her comfort zone and come to full maturity, as it seemed that would never happen for her in Rivendell.

That night, the twenty-fourth of December, Lord Elrond held a gathering in the Hall of Fire, to honor the Fellowship and to recognize the seriousness of the quest on which they were about to depart. After the usual fineries and nuances, the drinks flowed rather freely and laughter and song abounded. Tawariel was glued to Lindir's side most of the night, and Cristiel found herself falling in and out of a musing daze. Thoughts of Boromir, the quest, and evil's rise in the east cluttered her mind, and she eventually escaped to the quietness of the night in order to think. She came to a terrace which overlooked the river and let her eyes wander over the landscape. The moon which normally flooded the valley in glorious light was this night covered in fog, barely an outline in the murky sky, and the air hung thick and black. Not even the crickets were out to penetrate the silence. Only the smooth sounds of the river rushing far below broke the stillness, when hearty laughter from the Hall of Fire did not. In this dark quiet, she could think, and think clearly.

A shadow was growing. Its black fingers were already reaching over the Misty Mountains, grazing Rivendell's valley with the tips of its nails. The hand of Sauron was industrious, far-reaching, and hard at work. She had heard of those in Rivendell who'd had dreams, rather nightmares, of the desolate land of Mordor, a land occupied by evil beings beyond count and covered in a sky of menacing shadows; shadows never moving, but always growing, fed by an evil so potent it could be sensed miles and miles away.

She shivered at the thought, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin, or perhaps due to the cold air. Soft laughter from the Hall of Fire and the smells of pipeweed drew her mind to lighter things. The Hobbits were undoubtedly enjoying the merriment, and from what she had heard in the distance, to her chagrin, Gimli was almost certainly enjoying his ale even more. At this thought, she giggled quietly. Forgetting all the dangers associated with it, this journey the Fellowship was about to embark on would be a memorable one at least.

A jaw-splitting yawn came on her, and realizing how late it was, she ambled towards the living quarters, stopping for a second to gaze back at the Hall of Fire. Its warm glow seemed to emanate throughout Rivendell, and she hesitated. Perhaps she could go wish Boromir a good night. She changed her mind when she yawned again and continued up the path towards her quarters. She could barely see through the encroaching darkness. Still drifting in her thoughts and only half-awake, she clumsily lurched over an upturned stone in the path and stumbled ahead, into the back of a very broad shouldered man. He turned and laughed as she looked up at him bleary eyed, but she managed to return his grin.

"Little one, where have you been?" asked Boromir. "I looked for you in the Hall of Fire, after they brought out a keg, but it seems you did not want to be found."

"I was tired…" she replied with a shrug.

He nodded in understanding and gazed out across the shadowed valley. "'Tis an unusual night for Rivendell."

"Yes, it..." Another yawn broke through her words and she rubbed her eyes. "I would really like to get some sleep before tomorrow."

"Let me walk you to your quarters. We don't want you falling over again."

Cristiel laughed softly, and wrapped her arm onto his. The warmth of his body comforted her, and she walked close by his side through the darkness.

They reached the living quarters and made their way up the spiraling staircase to the more private areas of the building. Cristiel nodded to her door and they both moved to open it. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the door handle, and their faces fell inches apart as they muttered quiet apologies.

Then silence.

Boromir bent his face down a little so he could make out her features more clearly in the darkness. His lips parted, and she shuddered as his hot breath coursed over her neck. His eyes darted between her eyes and her mouth, and her lips parted involuntarily. To her surprise, her breathing quickened, and immediately her eyes fell to his lips, but she forced them back quickly to his emerald irises. They stood in taut silence, locked in a battle between boundaries and attraction, until finally Boromir took a step away from her and smiled.

"Goodnight, Cristiel."

She relaxed and said nothing in reply and turned away, opening her door quickly and quietly shutting it behind her. She pressed her ear to the door to listen as his booted footsteps became softer and softer, echoing down the hall, until she could hear him no more. Then she turned and promptly collapsed onto her bed and fell into a deep slumber, a smile formed upon her lips.

--

December 25

She awoke early to a cold quiet that seemed utterly unnatural. It was the day of departure, though she had all day to prepare. The Fellowship would leave Rivendell at dusk so they would not attract unneeded attention, and Cristiel was left with packing her small shoulder pack and waiting for evening to come.

As the sun slowly began to creep above the mountains, golden rays filtered through the trees, offering a calm, ethereal atmosphere. Somewhere in the distance, a horse neighed hungrily, and further away still, a hawk shrieked, soaring high in the thick, morning clouds. Dew dripped from low laying plant life and even the air was cool and humid. She remembered Lothlorien, and how it was always this way in the mornings. She had lived there, in the Golden Wood, for fourteen years, before the lands east of the mountains had become treacherous.

She came to the kitchens where a fresh breakfast was being prepared and took a small portion for herself, deciding to eat early and pack afterwards. Upon finishing the warm food quickly, she ambled back towards the living quarters, taking a short-cut down a path surrounded by vine-covered walls. She had taken not four steps down the way when she heard booted footsteps behind her. She turned and smiled when she saw that it was Boromir.

"You always seem to know where I am," she said. "How is that?"

"Perhaps it's from living with the elves for almost two months," Boromir said with a grin. "They tend to know more than I will ever understand."

"You are probably right."

He nodded. "Are you ready to leave Rivendell?"

"I am," she slowly replied. "I shall miss my mother and Tawariel, but I am positively itching to get out of here."

Boromir laughed. "I thought you would say something to that affect."

"Hmm?"

"That you so dreadfully wish to leave your home, though knowing full well you may never return."

"Yes, that is true. But at least I have the assurance of knowing that you and my father will be keeping four watchful eyes on me, just in case I do something foolish."

"What could you possibly do—"

Cristiel pressed a finger to his lips. "You do not know me well enough apparently. I am a rather impulsive person, tending to act upon my feelings at the time. Make sure I do not harm myself, that's all."

Boromir's mouth curved in a bemused half-smile. "Come here," he said. She came close to him and he took her slim figure into his arms. "I have been meaning to do this for some time now."

"Do what?"

Without another word, he promptly lowered his face and pressed his mouth to her lips. She stood glued to the ground, inhaling sharply through her nose as a strong, warm feeling coursed through her body. Her shoulders relaxed and she softly kissed him back, her eyelids falling shut, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck. His hands traveled slowly from her sides and down her back, his sturdy touch sending warm shivers up her spine. His mouth massaged hers and he swept his tongue across her lips. She willingly opened her tingling lips wider and he moved inside, gently exploring. His tongue brushed up against hers and she kissed him more passionately. But as soon as it began, it was over.

Boromir pulled his face back slowly, watching her reaction. Her knees trembled slightly, and for a split second she thought she might fall over. She leaned her body weight into him, resting her head on his chest and allowing a content smile to materialize on her face. He wrapped his sturdy arms about her and let his face drift in her dark hair, memorizing her soft, natural scent.

"Do you know that I allowed you to win that spar?" Boromir whispered.

"Mmm, I had wondered," breathed Cristiel. "It seemed too easy of a win."

He chuckled softly, still holding her snugly within his arms. "I have watched you everyday since then, and after the ball I finally realized how much I could not stop thinking of you. However, I did not think you shared my feelings."

"I did not think you shared mine!" she said, gazing up at him. "Until now."

Boromir smiled. "I promise I shall never leave you. No matter what dangers may befall us on this quest, when it is all over, I shall bring you to my city."

"I would like that, very much."

"Wonderful! I have something to ask you now."

"What's that?"

"May I address you as my 'love?' As for all intents and purposes, that's what you are to me."

A playful look crossed her face. "You may call me whatever you like, even 'little one,' though I truly detest that name. It's more suitable for a Hobbit."

"Then you should know that is what I'll call you more often," Boromir replied.

"You do enjoy taking advantage of trifles like that," muttered Cristiel. "My height, of all things..." Her next words were silenced by his mouth, and she enjoyed the kiss another few seconds before he removed his arms from her waist.

"You should go prepare for our departure. You don't want to be in the wilderness and discover you have forgotten something important."

"And what exactly are you thinking of?"

Boromir gave her a teasing stare. "A weapon could proof useful."

She grinned and headed away towards her quarters, but not before purposely grazing her hands lazily over his.

--

She arrived at her quarters feeling as though she was flying. Tawariel's words were ringing true. "_Perhaps you will meet a Man one day,_" she had said. The elf maiden was in love with someone as well. It was a funny thing how life could play out in this manner. The darkness of Mordor seemed so far away now, and in Cristiel's mind, didn't exist. It was only Boromir and herself, in their own world of love. He would wait for her and after the quest, he would take her to his city, and they would live together until old age took them. It was the stuff of dreams.

"Cristiel, you look as if you've fallen in love." Arwen came into the room, draped in cobalt and silver, shining like the star of her people.

Cristiel was standing in the center of the room, her hands mindlessly playing with her hair, smiling radiantly at nothing in particular. She realized what she was doing and immediately her hands dropped to her sides, and she rushed to grab a pack to prepare for the journey ahead. "I _am_ in love," she said quietly.

Amused, Arwen watched her daughter rush back and forth in a very uncharacteristic manner. "I know. He kissed you in the garden not ten minutes ago."

Cristiel laughed out loud in pure joy.

"Do you love him enough to follow him to Mordor?" Arwen asked quietly.

"Of course I do!" Cristiel cried, throwing her hands in the air. "That was my excuse for leaving!"

Her mother's lips parted, a look of distress crossing her face. "I know you want to leave Imladris. I've seen that fierce look in your eye for several years now, especially when my brothers ride out to hunt orcs."

Cristiel crossed the room, taking Arwen's hands. "You will let me go! You must!" she whispered. "I cannot bear to lose what I have just gained! It would kill me!"

"Would it?" Arwen gazed at her daughter through sad blue eyes. "This is your choice now. My father has granted you permission. Your father... well, it took him some time, but he has agreed as well. If this is what you want, then I cannot say otherwise." She squeezed Cristiel's hands. "May Eru bless you."

"Oh naneth, do you always have to be so dramatic? I'll be fine." She embraced Arwen as only a daughter could. "I will always love you."

Arwen smiled in a matronly way. "I will always love you, even more."

And they laughed together, their voices carrying across Rivendell, full of exuberant joy.

--

The noon sun began to sink behind the mountains, and the afternoon air grew cool. Cristiel was ready, and she could feel it in her stomach. Dressed in dark leggings, boots, and a tunic the color of a midnight blue sky, she entered one of her favorite gardens, the garden in which she had grown to love Boromir. She thought she might be sick, and if not then the butterflies in her stomach were not only lovesick and nervous, but also extremely eager to leave the valley.

The encounter she'd had with her mother earlier suddenly dawned on her with the recognition of what she was about to do. Her knees grew weak again, and she swallowed the bile that crept up her throat, scrunching her nose at the vile taste. She felt her face with cold, sweaty hands; she must have been white as a sheet! Shakily, she settled onto one of the wrought iron benches that lined the garden path, laughing at herself. Her heart was racing. The final realization had settled upon her: she was leaving Rivendell, her home, possibly forever. Why had she not given this more careful thought? She had so readily jumped when the opportunity came along, and it was with rash thinking that she had decided what she would do. But she could not bail out now. The man she was in love with was leaving too. She settled her face in her hands and breathed slowly through her nose, attempting to calm her stomach. Strength she had, at least she hoped, but it was refusing to surface when she needed it.

The footsteps of a ranger broke through her inner storm, and she glanced up to see her father coming towards her with a curious gaze. She rested her chin in her hands and tried to look optimistic, but he could see right through her mask.

"Something tells me you're having second thoughts," Aragorn said. He stopped and settled on the bench beside her.

Cristiel shook her head vigorously, feeling every bit the child she knew she was in his eyes. "No, no I'm not, ada. I'm fine," she said quietly, briskly.

The ranger raised an eyebrow. "I never asked you how you were, daughter."

She bit her lip, then decided she would just spill.

"What is naneth going to do without us?" she said softly. "It could be months before we see her again, that is if the quest does not fail."

Aragorn said nothing, the same thoughts obviously plaguing his mind.

"Your mother is strong," he said finally. "I pray you share her strength, or perhaps you should remain in Rivendell."

"No!" Cristiel jolted straight off the bench, staring at her father in shock. "'Tis the day we leave and you're saying I should remain here?"

"Cristiel..."

"No! I will not leave him, ada—"

He cut her off, finishing her sentence. "It would kill you?"

She stopped, completely taken aback. She opened and shut her mouth, thinking of nothing to say that would make known to him what she felt.

"Don't think your mother would keep a comment like that to herself."

Cristiel's continence returned. "I love Boromir," she proclaimed in an exuberant whisper.

Aragorn nodded slowly, his silver eyes growing hard. His opinion of the man must not have changed much since the council.

"You _must_ heed Lord Elrond's words, regardless what I think," he said firmly. "And do not think yourself incapable of making mistakes, daughter. I do not want to see you hurt in any manner, physical and otherwise. This is your choice, and you have one hour to make it."

She nodded, feeling diminished. She had already made her choice the moment she and Boromir found each other, and she felt strongly in her heart that their relationship would never change.

--

Finally, the hour passed. The Fellowship assembled in the entrance courtyard of Imladris, and the elves of Rivendell slowly trickled into the courtyard to bid their farewells. When Lord Elrond appeared, a hush went through those assembled. The half-elf's features were solemn as he addressed them all.

"The Ringbearer is setting out on a Quest of Mount Doom," he said gravely. "On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will." He paused, quickly studying the faces of each member of the group. Some were clearly apprehensive, yet others were bright and expectant, ready for adventure.

To the side amidst a courtly group of elves, stood Arwen, dressed in a lavender gown embroidered with silver. Her features were smooth and taut, as if restraining emotions that threatened to spill over. As Cristiel's eyes swept over those assembled in the courtyard, Arwen caught her gaze with shiny blue eyes, tears threatening to slip from them. Cristiel gave her mother a reassuring smile. Behind Arwen, Tawariel was nearly close to tears.

_I cannot understand this need you have for adventure, Cristiel._

_You probably never will._

Their month old conversation echoed in her mind. She smiled at Tawariel, who covered her mouth to contain a sob, but her sky blue eyes showed more strength than anything else.

"Farewell," said Elrond finally. "Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves, and Men, and all Free Folk go with you."

Legolas put his hand on his heart, bowing his head respectfully. There was an awkward pause.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer," Gandalf declared finally.

Reluctantly, Frodo turned, stepping outside the border of Rivendell, with the rest of the company following slowly behind.

Cristiel took one last longing glance at her mother, almost tasting bile again. Then she turned away, away towards the gate, one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other swinging at her side. She knew Boromir walked behind her. She knew not that Aragorn lingered further behind, silently telling her mother goodbye with tears in his eyes and a resolute expression on his face.

So the Fellowship of the Ring departed from Rivendell, some members filled with excitement, others mixed feelings, and still others with dread of the unknown upon their hearts. They would never return to Rivendell as a whole again.


	5. The Creature from the Black Lagoon

**A note from the author:**

Today is December 25th, 2009, Christmas Day, for those of you who celebrate it. For any tried and true Tolkien fan, the only other matter of import that occurred on this day was the departure of the Fellowship of the Ring from Rivendell, possibly some six thousand years ago today. So I thought it fitting to wait until this day to post this chapter. I am extremely sorry for the wait, but when one is a full time student, one has to have priorities. Unfortunately, writing hasn't been high on that list, but since the Christmas season has rolled around, I have about three weeks until spring semester starts up, so hopefully I will be able to write and write and write and . . . well you get the idea.

PS: For those of you who know what classic film the chapter title is referring to: I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist xD

PPS: Almost forgot a disclaimer, although I really shouldn't need one, since this is fan fiction. Anyway, Cristiel, Tawariel, and others you may not recognize belong to me. All else can be (thankfully) attributed to the almighty Lord Tolkien of Oxford, and some lines of dialogue to Peter Jackson. Darn it all. One day I shall rule all the Tolkien universe with my lenient hand of fangirl-dom xD

* * *

**Chapter V: The Creature from the Black Lagoon**

Year 3019 of the Third Age  
January 8

_We have been traveling for thirteen days, and only at night to keep our whereabouts as much of a secret from the Enemy as possible. Already Merry and Pippin are becoming ridiculously antsy. Legolas has had no problem keeping them quiet, what with his endless supply of lembas from Mirkwood. I cannot understand why Elrond didn't think of supplying all of us with lembas himself._

_ As I write this, Merry keeps poking Pippin, who responds with a poke back. They tell me this game is called "Tig." They have so far failed to amuse me._

_ Sleeping during the day is possibly the hardest thing I've ever attempted. Luckily, we trek so long during the night that as the sun comes up I feel I can do nothing else but collapse to the hard ground with a pack over my face. As we progress further, I'm sure all of us will get used to this. I admit that I'm jealous of Legolas, since Elves don't need to sleep in the same manner of Men._

_ The one thing that has me most disappointed is, of course, the fact that we are traveling during the night. Obviously, not much of the world is visible in the dark. However, I am hoping that as the moon waxes it's fullest, I will be able to see what I've always dreamed of seeing in its full glory: the Wild._

_--_

This was one of a growing collection of entries in Cristiel's newish journal. In Rivendell, she had never dreamed of keeping a steady diary and recording things both great and small in it on a daily basis. But traveling as the Fellowship was, there wasn't much else to do to pass the time when they rested. Because they traveled only at night, the daylight hours were spent sleeping, or at least attempting to sleep, and in the hobbits' case especially, eating. Little talk could be afforded during the day, as secrecy was their priority.

They traveled in a linear procession. Gandalf always took the lead, and Aragorn walked beside him, as he knew the lands they walked better than anyone, even in the blackness of night. Frodo followed, and Sam stayed close to him at all times. The pony Bill traded hands between the younger hobbits rather frequently, but no one rode him, for he was laden with their few needed supplies. Keeping a safe distance from the pony's rear was Gimli, who was followed by Boromir and Cristiel. The two of them tended to walk closely, when the land permitted. Finally, Legolas took up the rearguard, as the "eyes" of the Fellowship.

At length, Aragorn announced softly to the company that they had arrived in Hollin.

"The air is good here," Gandalf said. "Elves once dwelt among these hills, and the land will not easily forget them, unless evil has truly swept all memory away."

"The Elves of Hollin were a strange folk to my people," stated Legolas. "The trees do not remember them. Only the rocks mourn them now. They left Middle Earth a long time ago."

They stopped to rest, and Aragorn took up the watch for the remainder of the night. The land was deathly silent. There were no birds, and no constant whistle of the wind. When Cristiel gazed up at the night sky, her eyes were met with nothing. No stars. She leaned back against a rock face, but sleep was not to be found that night, for it was occupied with the rest of the Company.

As the night drew on, the stagnant air grew bitterly colder. She drew her cloak further around herself and went over to where her father was sitting, thoughtful and silent. They acknowledged each other, but neither spoke for some time. She felt the company was needed on a night such as this one, when it seemed the land was lifeless as a grave.

"I have been in Hollin many times, and never has the land been so silent and empty," Aragorn said quietly. "The birds that once dwelt here are gone."

Cristiel looked at her father curiously. "The Shadow could not have stretched this far, could it?"

Aragorn raised his eyes skyward. "I do not know. I have a sense of watchfulness and fear that I have never felt here before." He looked back at Cristiel. "It is a very strange feeling."

Her lips parted as something washed over her. Perhaps it was a realization, but it felt more like something foreboding.

"A gathering dark . . ."

Aragorn's eyes glittered silver, even through the darkness. "You know your history, daughter."

Cristiel gazed up at the stars, suddenly feeling extremely inconsequential. She had studied the wars of ages past and the formation of the Last Alliance, in which Elf and Man fought side by side on the very doorstep of Mordor...

"History always repeats," she said quietly.

"When Sauron makes his war, it will come hard and swift," said the ranger. "For now, we have the good fortune of his not knowing where the ring is. He thinks we will try to use it against him. But I do not think he has even realized that we would seek to destroy it. That is our advantage."

"But war will come, won't it?"

Aragorn paused at the question. He had no wish to answer it, but the answer was inevitable. "There is no doubt that war will come," he whispered.

Cristiel bit her lip, staring at the ground. She'd known the answer.

"The question is," Aragorn continued, "will free men stand up and fight? Or will they cower in fear of their new Dark Master?"

She looked up at her father again, and he no longer sat hunched over in the dark, but his back was straightened. He seemed taller, his face splendent and shining and his eyes on fire, as if he were a King of old.

Suddenly, for just a moment, Cristiel felt utterly insignificant. A wash of worthlessness settled over her, as if she no longer belonged anywhere, as if her existence did not matter at all.

--

January 9

As the sun poked its golden crown above the horizon again, most of the Fellowship stirred from their slumber. It had earlier been decided that they would cease travel for the entire day, and rest during the next night, in order to build up more strength. They would not continue onward until the following day.

A fire was built, and they thankfully enjoyed Sam's spiced sausage with plain biscuits, and strips of venison from a small deer that Aragorn had tracked earlier that morning. It was the heartiest meal they had eaten since departing Rivendell fourteen days before.

Invigorated by the meal, Merry and Pippin soon leapt up, whipping their small swords from their sheaths. They began to parry each other, and seemed to be having a good time too. Cristiel watched with a smile on her face. The Hobbits were tireless, that much was obvious to her. They continued to parry each other, until Boromir stepped between them with his own blade.

"Get away from the blade, Pippin. Good, on your toes now. I want you to react, not think." He thrust too far and caught Pippin's hand.

"Ow!" The hobbit snatched his sword arm back, then exchanged a mischievous grin with Merry. "For the Shire!" they cried, and jumped onto Boromir, tackling him to the ground.

Meanwhile, Legolas had bounded onto a raised, rocky outcropping, and was staring into the distance. A smudge appeared on the southern horizon, barely visible in the bright sky. As it came towards them, other members of the Fellowship took notice.

"What is that?" Sam asked, looking up from his plate of various greasy meats.

"It's just a wisp of cloud," countered Gimli.

Aragorn shook his head. "That is no cloud. It is moving fast and against the wind. Legolas, what do you see?"

The elf turned and bounded down from his post on the rock. "They are Crebain, from Dunland!" he cried.

"Hide!" Aragorn ordered, leaping into action. The Fellowship frantically scrambled for cover in the underbrush and rocks of the hillock. As they attempted to disappear into the landscape, the smudge had quickly overtaken them, becoming a writhing mass of blackbirds and crows that swooped and whirled above them. Their ear piercing cries filled the air, and they dove about the hillock for a short time, then continued onward to the north.

Slowly, the company came out of their hiding places, looking about for any sign of the birds.

"Those were spies of Saruman," Gandalf said gravely. "The passage south is being watched."

"Hollin is no longer a hospitable land to us," said Aragorn. "We should leave immediately."

Gandalf glanced at Boromir as he spoke. "The Gap of Rohan is no longer an option to us," said the wizard. "And the Redhorn gate may be watched as well."

They all turned to gaze at the mountain the wizard was motioning towards. Its peak was jagged and snow covered, but its sides were bare, and dull red, almost bloody in appearance.

"Unfortunately, that is our only choice now. We will take the Pass of Caradhras."

--

January 11

They marched on for two days, and when they stopped they built no fire. Aragorn had said the light might attract the crebain again, and that was the last thing they needed. As they slowly made their way up the slopes of Caradhras, the air grew colder and the wind more bitter. The sun bore down on them with cold ferocity, emitting harsh light that reflected off the thickly packed snow. Away up the slope, a gray cloud hung over Caradhras' peak. The Fellowship gazed at the cloud anxiously, but pressed on nonetheless.

Whether it was from the weight of the ring around his neck, or from the daze that came with lack of sleep, Frodo stumbled, losing his footing, and went tumbling down the slope. Cristiel barely managed to catch the hobbit and heaved him to his feet. He stood dazed for a moment, dusting snow from his clothing, then his hand reached for the ring. He looked up frantically. There was nothing there, and all the Fellowship had stilled.

The gold band glittered in Boromir's emerald eyes, dangling on its chain from his gloved hand. Cristiel sucked in a nervous breath.

"Boromir," called Aragorn, his voice tense.

Boromir stood transfixed by the ring. "'Tis a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing," he said quietly. "Such a little thing." His hand moved towards the ring, a finger raising as if to caress it gently, and a slight, mesmerized smile formed on his face.

"Boromir!"

Boromir snapped out of his trance, suddenly feeling all the eyes of the Fellowship on him. He blinked, retaining his sense of mind.

"Give the ring to Frodo," Aragorn ordered.

He hesitated, reclaiming his sense, then slowly trudged down the slope through the snow. Cristiel watched him carefully, unsure what to do. As he came closer, he avoided her eye contact. He held the ring's chain out to Frodo, which the hobbit snatched back quickly, then carefully lifted the chain over his head to rest on his neck.

"As you wish," Boromir said lightly. "I care not." He ruffled Frodo's hair casually.

Cristiel stared at him in candid surprise. His behavior had caught her totally off guard. He glanced at her with some hesitation and a glitter in his eye that said, _"What seems to be the matter?"_ but she said nothing. She watched him still as he turned away, shouldering his shield, and began to climb back up the slope.

Then she glanced to the left to see her father's reaction, and something horrible seized her heart for a moment, before flitting away barely noticed. Aragorn's hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, but he silently removed it as the tension subsided.

She let out the breath she had been holding and gave Frodo a reassuring pat on the shoulder, if not trying to reassure herself that all was well. Then the Fellowship continued up the slope of Caradhras as if nothing had ever happened.

--

It began to snow by noon. The wind soon picked up dramatically and it began to storm soon after. Their climb brought them to a narrowed path along the mountainside only two arm lengths wide. They walked closely to the side of the mountain as to avoid the precarious drop-off that had no visible bottom. The snow was piled so thickly on the ground that Gandalf had to go in front and carve out a sort of clearing with his staff, while the rest of the Fellowship trudged behind him, except Legolas. The elf prince walked lightly on top of the snow, peering out into the white abyss that surrounded them. Aragorn swore at one point that he had seen Gandalf give the elf a particularly foul look.

Soon the blizzard was swirling madly around them. Flakes of ice stung Cristiel's face and permeated her clothing. She began shivering uncontrollably, then glanced around. She could barely make out the dark shapes of the other members of the Fellowship. Only Boromir was fully visible, and Frodo and Pippin, as he was practically dragging them to help them along. Cristiel held out her shaking arm and found she couldn't see her hand in front of her at all.

A voice, muted only by the chaos of the storm, cried out in the air, echoing off the mountainside and filling Cristiel with the most discouraging feelings. Then somewhere in front of her, a little ways down the path, she heard another voice call out to them.

"There is a fell voice on the air!" said Legolas.

A blinding flash of lightning broke through the white sheet that fell from the sky, and a blast of thunder followed.

"This is a contrivance of Saruman!" Gandalf cried.

Suddenly, Legolas pulled Gandalf away from the front of the line and flattened them both against the wall. A crash from above, and then a rockslide tumbled past them, barely a hairsbreadth away, down the side of the mountain and into the gorge below.

"He is trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled from behind them. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

Gandalf pulled himself back to his feet. "No!" he replied. Then he raised his staff against the storm, and chanted into the wind.

"Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i ruith!"

There was another crack of lighting, and the mountain seemed to shake. They glanced up but could see nothing except white and gray smudges. An avalanche had been triggered by the lighting strike, and it was falling through the air straight towards them.

Suddenly, Cristiel was knocked to the ground by the cold mass of snow. By the time she came to her senses, she found she was hardly able to move. Already, she had no feeling in her legs from the cold. She pressed at the snow above her, but she had no strength left in her arms; the cold had frozen her strength away. Her lungs began screaming for air, but when she inhaled, she was met with a cold, dry dust.

Suddenly a gloved hand crashed through the ice and grabbed her arm, pulling her up through the drift. She came up coughing and sputtering as if she had been underwater for too long, and wrapped an arm weakly about Boromir's, shivering from the cold. The other members of the Fellowship were obviously going through the same predicament. Pippin and Frodo were latched onto Boromir as well, and Sam and Merry to Aragorn.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir protested. "Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" countered Aragorn. Cristiel looked on in apathy and discontent. All she wanted was to get off the mountain and feel the flames of a hot fire melt away the chill that had crept into her bones.

"If we cannot pass over a mountain, let us go under it," Gimli offered. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

They all turned to Gandalf, whose expression was one of dark contemplation. His eyes seemed to glaze over suddenly, then swiftly returned to the present, now gazing forebodingly at the members of the Fellowship. "Let the Ring bearer decide," said the wizard soberly.

"We cannot stay here! This will be the death of the hobbits!" Boromir shouted above the din of the storm, holding Pippin and Frodo closer. They were pale, and shivering fiercely. Cristiel had lost much of the feeling in her feet, and cast a pleading glance at Frodo.

"We will go through the mines," said Frodo finally.

Boromir muttered something that Cristiel had rather not have heard, but it was Frodo's choice.

Gandalf nodded. "So be it."

--

January 13

For two days, they descended Caradhras, their bodies physically worn by the sorcery which Saruman had inflicted upon the mountain, making travel slower than usual. When they finally set foot upon less treacherous ground, they realized with dismay that they had come to a dead end. There was no dwarven gate in sight as Gimli had boasted of; only a monstrous wall of solid rock that bent around the perimeter of a still, black lake, ascending away into the dark mist. It now seemed that they should have gone through the Gap of Rohan, as Boromir had first suggested. But Gimli, being as obvious as possible, bluntly pointed out that the vast majority of dwarven doors were invisible when shut, and could only be found when lit in the brightest of evening lights, whether starlight or moonlight. He suggested that Gandalf clear the skies of clouds to allow for moonlight to shine through, to which the wizard only grumbled irritably in response. He ran his hands across the cold stone wall, searching for a trace of indentations or markings, something that might be the key to opening the gate.

And then, as if by some chance miracle, the sky cleared, its dank clouds rushing away on a cold wind, revealing a bright, full moon. Almost immediately, the lifeless wall began to glow, a soft silvery-blue outline that formed an enormous arched gateway in the rock. Within the outer border were formed the shapes of stars and trees, and arching over the door was a row of dwarven runes. It was a dwarven door, but it was shut.

"It reads, 'The Door of Durin, Lord of Moria,' " Gandalf explained, motioning to the runes with his gnarled staff. " 'Speak, friend, and enter.' "

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked.

"Oh, it's quite simple," the wizard continued assertively. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."

All the company seemed to think this a reasonable request, and Gandalf approached the doors, raising his arms.

"Annon Edhellen, edro hi amen!"

Cristiel watched patiently as nothing happened. The cold wind sent goose bumps down her arms and she drew her cloak about her.

Gandalf remained confident and raised his arms once again. "Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!"

"Nothing's happening," said Pippin, pointing out the obvious fact.

The wizard glanced at him in an annoyed fashion, then pushed the head of his staff into the door, uttering another spell. Still the doors did not open.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men, and Orcs," Gandalf muttered.

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took!" Gandalf replied angrily. "If that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."

The Fellowship watched as Gandalf tried more words, chants, and phrases in many languages, hoping for just the right one to open the doors.

Minutes turned to hours, and the night deepened, but the wizard had no luck. He seated himself next to Frodo, muttering to himself words that no one would wish to hear. Nearby, Merry and Pippin busied themselves by casually tossing rocks in the silent black water of the lake. The ripples kicked up by their missiles expanded until most of the water's surface was gently rolling, and they did not notice the larger waves coming in towards them. However, Aragorn did.

He stood up and grabbed Pippin's throwing arm before he could launch another stone into the lake.

"Do not disturb the water," he warned, staring uneasily at the black lagoon.

"It's a riddle," said Frodo suddenly, and the heads of the Fellowship turned. He removed himself from his seat by the wizard and stood in front of the gate. "Speak friend, and enter..." he said. Turning to Gandalf, he asked, "What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"Mellon," he replied.

A rumbling within the rock wall gave way to a crack that split down the center of the illuminated outlines, and two thick doors groaned slowly open. Within, yawned a darkness blacker than the night, but the doors were open.

The hobbits cheered, and the Fellowship made ready to enter the mines. Behind them, the water of the lake stirred closer to shore.

Cristiel swallowed as they entered the mines. She couldn't see her hand as she held it in front of her face, and the air was dank, almost putrid to the taste, as if it hadn't been breathed or touched by civilized hands in a long time. Somewhere in the shadows ahead of them, water dripped from the unknown heights of the ceiling. It was only the shuffling of hobbit feet in front of her and Boromir's boot steps behind that gave her enough courage to step forward.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves." Gimli's gruff voice echoed off unseen walls. "Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone! This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin, and they call it a mine. A mine!" He snorted loudly, obviously amused at the idea.

The light of Gandalf's staff suddenly illuminated the chamber, to Cristiel's relief, but as she surveyed the room, bile rose in her mouth, and the Fellowship recoiled in horror. The floor was strewn with bones and broken weapons. Rotting dwarf corpses lay in every corner and against every wall, impaled with black arrows, and rusting armor and weapons lay about each corpse.

"This is no mine," said Boromir grimly. "It's a tomb."

Cristiel genuinely felt as though she would be sick, as Legolas yanked an arrow from a decomposing corpse. "Goblins!" he shouted.

Swords were unsheathed and arrows notched in their bows. They back away slowly towards the gates they had just triumphantly entered moments ago.

Boromir glanced at Cristiel, whose face was pale. "We make for the Gap of Rohan," he said. "We should never have come here!"

It could have been to their fortune had they all turned around sooner, but no one saw the sinuous tentacle come slithering out of the lake. It wrapped tightly around Frodo's ankle and dragged him swiftly out of the mine and towards the lake shore. The hobbit cried out for help, and the other hobbits ran to slice at the tentacle furiously, quickly severing its hold on Frodo. Sam's cry alerted the others, but the arm quickly retreated back into the water, mangled and dripping with slime.

Frodo struggled away from the water, and all seemed to calm for a moment, but a moment not taken advantage of. Twenty more tentacles shot out of the water, tossing the other hobbits aside, and one wrapped tightly around Frodo's leg. He was lifted high into the air, as the source of the tentacles raised itself above the water, revealing a monstrous head and cavernous jaws that enveloped seemingly endless supplies of sharp teeth. Aragorn and Boromir threw themselves into the lake, hacking at the creature and sending sliced tentacles splashing into the water. Cristiel, once she had overcome her shock at the sight of the creature, charged into the freezing lake, her sword held tightly in her hands. She swung at a thick tentacle, but her blade cut only partly through the tough, slime-covered skin. With all her strength, and a cry that surprised even herself, she sliced through the remaining shrivels of the tentacle, then was knocked over by another arm that came writhing through the air. Soaked to the bone in freezing water, she watched wide eyed as Frodo was lowered closer to the creature's hungry jaws. Aragorn severed the limb that held Frodo, and the hobbit came flailing through the air, landing safely in Boromir's arms. The men lunged towards shore, and Aragorn grabbed Cristiel's arm just as the creature began a full-on attack. She glanced behind them, saw the creature's crimson eyes, glowing and hungry for a kill, and turned quickly back to the shore, barely keeping up with her father. Legolas notched two arrows and sent them directly into the creature's head, throwing it backwards for a second, and Gandalf motioned to them furiously. "Into the mines!" he called. "Hurry!"

With the creature still in pursuit, the Fellowship rushed into the darkness of the mines from which they had previously retreated. Boulders were ripped from their seats in the earth and the writhing of tentacles was clearly heard behind them. The great dwarven doors were plucked from the bedrock, and the walls of the cave buckled, collapsing from the strain of the creature's numerous arms. A flood of rock tumbled from the remaining ceiling, and the Hobbits stumbled against each other, terrified and bewildered. Aragorn pulled Cristiel against the wall behind him, the latter gripping her father's shoulders in panic.

Silence fell as the dust settled and the Fellowship regained their bearings slowly. They were left in pitch blackness once again, out of breath and soaked in freezing water. Their only escape out was sealed shut.

Gandalf's staff shone once more, and he adjusted his pointy hat as he moved to the front of the jumbled group. "We now have but one choice," he said quietly. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

Cristiel edged closer to Boromir and he took her cold hand in his glove, squeezing it reassuringly.

"And we must go quietly," Gandalf continued, as he led them out onto a narrow winding path that went over a black chasm. Cristiel stared straight ahead. "It is a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence will go unnoticed."

* * *

Well, that's all for now. I hope you enjoyed it somewhat. To be honest, I think it sucks. _But_ _anywho _. . . look for Chapter 6 on the first day of the new year!

Oh! I almost forgot! I wasted a few hours of my life last week and threw together a brand new, longer, and someone told me "more epic" trailer for _A Daughter of Kings_. I suggest you check it out just for kicks. Fan Fiction dot net wouldn't let me post the link here, but you can find it easily by visiting my profile page.

Wishing you the best Christmas of your life and a wonderful, life changing New Year,  
~Raz


	6. Shadow and Flame

Author's Note: Well, not much to say here, other than I hope you people have an awesome, happy, wonderful, joyful, special, best-of-all-time new year and decade! I know I'm ready to have an awesome, happy, wonderful, kick butt new year!!! Whoo!!! I'm, like, jittery. I'm so hyped on caffeine right now xD Hah! Anyway, ignore me, and enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Chapter VI: Shadow and Flame**

Year 3019 of the Third Age  
Date Unknown

The Fellowship traveled for a day and a half without major incident. Of course, there was the usual whining from Pippin about tired feet and an empty stomach, but for the most part, the trek was rather dull. Darkness had never been a favorite of any of theirs, except for Gimli, who seemed quite at home in the mines, despite the knowledge that his kinsmen no longer occupied them.

It seemed to Cristiel that the mines went on without end. Everywhere she looked, she noticed another passage or perhaps a bottomless chasm just waiting for someone to tumble into. Decrepit mining gear and scaffolding lay along every pathway and corridor, and the air was cold, foul to the smell. She could not imagine that dwarves actually lived and worked here at one point in time. The idea of inhabiting these mines made her almost scrunch up her nose in revulsion. People needed fresh air and growing things to thrive, not rocks and shadow.

It was at one point when they came to a split off of corridors that they stopped, even though it was probably just mid-morning. Gandalf had apparently forgotten where he was by the look on his face. He slumped on a large rock facing the three entryways, and the Fellowship took this as a sign to follow suit.

A rather long amount of time passed, although they were not sure how much. The shadows of the mines were deceptive and did not always choose to reveal any rays of light that might peak through some crevice in the mountains above. Eventually, impatience got the best of Pippin, and he began complaining as usual.

"Merry?"

"What?"

"Are we lost?"

"I don't think so, Pip."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Merry?"

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

This sort of bickering between them had become commonplace at this point during their journey, but several times Aragorn had to tell them to be quiet, so they would not alert the other inhabitants of Moria to their presence. When Pippin asked what those other inhabitants were, Aragorn did not reply.

The dankness of the dark cavern air made Cristiel sleepy, but it chilled her to the bone. Her clothing, once wet from the earlier encounter with the creature outside the west gate, had since dried out, but it didn't seem to matter, as the deeper they went into Moria the cooler the air became. To her dismay, where the Fellowship was now perched on a series of long staircases that wound up the side of a steep valley, there was no place to safely build a fire of any size. She shivered and held her arms to her chest.

At length, she could take it no longer and moved to Boromir's side. He rested an arm about her shoulders and gazed at her with easiness in his eyes, their usually stark green now just a muddy olive color, barely visible in the meager light of the caves. She eased back against the craggy rock face, and leaned her head on his broad shoulder, letting her eyelids fall shut. She took in his musty, leathery scent, forever committing it to her memory, as his fur lined cloak softly brushed her cheek.

She must have fallen into a deep sleep. It felt as though only seconds had passed when she awoke to find Boromir gently shaking her. Slowly opening her eyes, she saw that Gandalf was ready for them to continue once more.

They entered a dark passageway that tunneled down a seemingly endless staircase through the rock, and in pitch blackness, save for the light emanating from Gandalf's staff. Their steps echoed loudly in the small corridor and it seemed that the tunnel went on forever, but finally they came to the end of it. As they passed through the door, they entered a much larger room, or so it felt to Cristiel. The air wasn't so stuffy there. She wished she could see more of their surroundings.

"Let me risk a little more light," said Gandalf, as if on cue. He raised his staff and suddenly its light brightened considerably, flooding the cavern around them in a soft gray and making visible a sight most of them had never seen before.

"Behold!" Gandalf proclaimed. "The great realm and Dwarf city of Darrowdelf."

They raised their eyes and beheld a sight that one would not expect to find so deep under the earth. They were standing in the midst of a vast, shadowy hall. In numerous rows that spanned the width and breadth of the cavern's floor, massive, smoothly-carved pillars of stone rose to the ceiling high above them like great tree trunks. Far away, on each side of them, the walls gleamed like polished steel, reflecting the meager light that radiated from Gandalf's staff. There was a strange beauty about it to Cristiel, despite the fact that there was no light other than Gandalf's meager source. Not the same beauty that she knew in Rivendell, but a rougher, more earthy beauty.

"Well, there's an eye opener and no mistake!" said Sam, awestruck. "There must have been a mighty crowd of dwarves here at one time."

"Long ago, these halls were not so dark and dreary, but full of light and splendor," said Gimli.

"I wonder what happened then, that caused the dwarves to leave Moria?" Cristiel said, still gazing at the empty hall.

"In their lust for mithril, the dwarves delved too greedily and too deep," Gandalf explained. "They awoke something in the dark: Durin's Bane."

Gimli did not speak after this. As the company crossed the width of the hall, the dwarf suddenly charged ahead of them with a distressed cry, ignoring Gandalf's barking order for him to stop. The Fellowship followed him, and entering through a pair of rotting, wooden doors, they came into a smaller room full of rotted carcasses and rusted weapons. The scene was not so dissimilar to the one they had first encountered before the Watcher in the Water had attacked them at the western gate.

In the center of the chamber was a single block of polished white stone, spotlighted by a pale beam of daylight that cascaded through a square opening in the rock hundreds of feet above. Gimli sank to his knees beside the stone, his shoulders shuddering in grief.

Gandalf peered at the runes which were inscribed in four rows on the white stone. "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," he translated. He removed his pointed hat and gazed about the chamber in watchfulness. "He is dead then. It is as I feared."

Gimli let out a mournful sob, his helmet resting on the tomb with a subtle clunk. Gandalf handed his staff and hat to Pippin, and reaching down towards the corpse of a dwarf, carefully pried away a large, dusty book. The skeletal hands that had clung to the thick manuscript cracked and turned to dust with his lightest touch. He opened it delicately, and dried flakes of blood and dirt floated to the floor, the pages crackling as he turned them.

"We must move on," Legolas said quietly. "We cannot linger here."

Aragorn nodded, peering warily over his shoulder at the dark, empty hall from which they had come.

A chill was beginning to creep up Cristiel's spine, and she reached for Boromir's hand, finding a little solace in the calloused fingers that wrapped around her own slender ones.

Gandalf carefully turned the final bloodstained page of the book he held, where the writing stopped. " 'They have taken the Bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long,' " he read aloud. " 'The ground shakes. Drums... Drums in the deep. We cannot get out... A shadow moves in the dark....' " He scanned the page for legible words, until he came to the last sentence that looked as though it had been scrawled in earnest haste. " 'They are coming.' "

As quickly as he had finished that final word, a commotion rose behind him. Cristiel froze in surprise and shock as she spotted a misshapen carcass, clad in full armor, tumble into the unknown depths of a dry well. It was tangled in a thick chain, which was then connected to a rusty bucket. Those, too, followed the corpse into the shadowy hole in a clamor that was surely heard in all of Moria. Pippin stood nearby, his eyes downcast.

The Fellowship held their breath as each echo carried out of the well's hole, deeper and deeper into the mines. Then Gandalf whirled on the guilty hobbit.

"Fool of a Took!" the wizard cried hoarsely. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

Pippin looked as guilty as he knew he was. Finally, the sounds dissipated into cavernous silence, and they slowly released a breath of relief.

"Should we be moving on now?" Cristiel suggested quietly.

Gandalf's curt reply was sucked from his mouth. What he heard, so did the rest of the Fellowship. A drumming beneath the earth, far away.

A single _doom_.

Then it came again, only louder, as if to say "_we are coming_." Another drum answered the first, and yet another, even closer this time. Then the screeches came. Far away at first, like the drums, but they quickly drew near, until it seemed as if all the halls of Moria echoed with the ear splitting cacophony.

Frodo suddenly drew his sword, seeing that it was glowing blue, and Legolas shouted out what they were all thinking.

"Orcs!"

"Get back!" Aragorn motioned to the hobbits. "Stay close to Gandalf!" Then he glanced at Cristiel with the same look. She caught his eye and stepped back a little, but drew her sword nonetheless.

Stealing a glance out of the chamber's doorway, Boromir leaped back from the doors just in time to miss two black arrows in his skull. He forced the doors shut and Aragorn and Legolas rushed to help him bar them with anything and everything they could get a hold of.

"They have a cave troll," Boromir remarked dryly as he backed away, readily swinging his sword in circles.

Cristiel swallowed and braced herself for the onslaught. Behind her, the hobbits had clustered together, Frodo's sword glowing bright blue. Already, orcs were beating against the door on the other side, and they quickly pierced the rotting wood. Aragorn and Legolas drew arrows and shot down several orcs through these holes before the doors were even opened.

Gimli leaped onto Balin's tombstone brandishing two large battle-axes. "Let them come!" he growled. "There is still one dwarf left in Moria who still draws breath!"

He had barely finished these words as the doors splintered into a thousand pieces and a screeching horde of goblins rushed into the chamber. The cave troll came barreling close behind, swinging its heavy stone hammer wildly about in angry confusion, saliva dripping from its toothy mouth. It easily tossed away its goblin captors and lunged at Gimli, but the dwarf leaped out of the way, leaving Balin's grave to be smashed into gray dust. The others of the Fellowship flung themselves into the bedlam, even the hobbits, and steel clashed against steel while arrows flew freely.

Trying desperately to avoid the cave troll, Cristiel lunged at an orc and stabbed it through the chest, trying not to notice the spray of black blood that spurted onto her face and clothing. The odor made her head spin. Another orc came up behind her and she whirled, her blade slicing through the armor that protected the tender flesh of its neck. The creature shrieked, grappling at the hole in its quickly emptying jugular. Cristiel took this opportunity to silence the orc, and then turned away from the blood-covered body. Her eyes were greeted with the hideous face of an overgrown goblin, and she stumbled back in surprise. The creature swung its wide blade over its head, and in her attempt to parry the heavy attack, she lost grip of her own sword. The blade clattered to the floor some feet away.

Nearby, Aragorn and Boromir had latched their arms around the thick chain that swung freely from the troll's neck. They pulled on it fiercely, causing the troll to choke and stumble backwards. Legolas took this opportunity to shoot an arrow into the troll's shoulder, but its thick skin was no match for the single sting and the troll plucked the arrow out easily. Cristiel watched in amazement as Legolas leaped from an outcropping in the wall and onto the troll's shoulders, simultaneously putting two arrows into its spine. Then he returned to the ground smoothly and managed to avoid any further confrontation. However, the troll had now been provoked into a state of utter contempt for any living thing that crossed its path. Cristiel stumbled backwards to avoid the mad swinging of its hammer, but its actions weren't aimed at her. It was going right for Boromir and Aragorn.

She watched in sudden horror as Boromir was flung across the chamber, his arm caught in the troll's chain. He hit the cavern's stone wall and tumbled to the hard floor like a rag doll. She pushed through the mass of goblins, using a rough orc blade she grabbed from the floor. It was disgusting to her touch, but it worked.

A goblin moved to stick Boromir in the gut while he was still dazed, and Cristiel lunged at it, slicing its head clean off. She then glanced at Boromir, who was finally picking himself up. Blood flowed from a gash in his cheek, and a quaint smile appeared on his face for a moment, but it quickly disappeared as more goblins rushed at them.

Boromir stood in front of her then, weaponless as she was. The orc blade she'd borrowed had snapped on its way through the hapless orc's neck. He staved off orc after orc, giving her the opportunity to find her missing sword. She would curse herself later for being so foolish.

Almost immediately, she whirled around at the cackling behind her. A goblin raised its sword to strike, and Cristiel froze in panic. The orc's rusty blade clattered to the cave floor as black blood spurted out of the creature's chest, and she started with surprise as she saw the blue blade that had done the deed. Frodo just nodded before scattering away to avoid the troll.

In her rush to move out of the way herself, she stumbled over the goblin's body and collided with another larger orc. She looked about quickly for Boromir, but she had put too much distance between them for him to be of any help. The orc sneered as it saw she had no weapon, but moving and thinking quicker now, Cristiel ducked its swing. With a swift punch to its deformed face that made her suck in a sharp breath, she managed to keep her attacker occupied long enough for her to retrieve her sword which lay only a few feet away.

Scrambling for her blade, she was knocked over again. A goblin had jumped from an alcove above and onto her shoulders. She fell to the ground with a grunt, elbowing the goblin from one side as she attempted to roll out from under it. Clutching the handle of her sword, she blocked the goblin's eager thrusts, and finally kicked its leg in just the right sensitive spot. It keeled over with a howl, and Cristiel took this moment of weakness to impale the creature through its chest. Wincing as black blood spurted onto her face, she withdrew her blade covered in the stuff, expecting the goblin to back away. Instead, it snarled at her and leaped across the small space between them. Caught off guard, Cristiel lurched backwards. She was barely able to fend off the orc's wild strokes.

Suddenly a searing pain flared in her left arm. Her breath caught in her throat for a split second, then she gave a restrained, painful cry. Her attacker had slit her upper arm open for several inches, and a thin stream of fresh blood was already staining her tunic. The pain shot to her fingers and up through her shoulder, but an angry burst of adrenaline followed. She swung her blade madly at the goblin, but it jumped back quickly enough to duck her blow.

The goblin's proud cackle was cut short by an intricately fletched arrow through the neck. The creature froze and promptly toppled over. Cristiel watched with gleeful anger, gritting her teeth as she pressed her sword hand to her wound. Nodding gratefully to Legolas, she moved to retrieve her blade again, trying desperately to ignore the pain in her arm. _The first of many battle wounds,_ she thought sarcastically, _if this keeps up._

Boromir came to her quickly, holding out her sword. "Are you alright?" he asked in obvious consternation.

With tightly closed lips, Cristiel nodded wordlessly, gritting her teeth as she swallowed through the pain. When Boromir had been tossed by the cave troll, he had gotten up almost immediately. It hadn't appeared so painful as the four inch gash that now stretched the length of her upper left arm. She wondered at his endurance. She took her blade with a shaky hand, looking up suddenly as something moved in the corner of her vision. Boromir deftly stabbed the encroaching goblin through its skull with his dagger, then placed a hand on her good arm, his eyes deep with concern. She gave him one firm look, gripping the handle of her blade with stubborn strength. Then, as if nothing else mattered, she whirled around as another orc leaped for her. Boromir didn't seem convinced, and stayed close to her side as they fought off the remaining goblins.

A choked cry from somewhere across the room made all of them turn. Frodo's face was contorted in pain, his blue eyes glazing over. A thick pike protruded from his torso, and his two small hands were wrapped around it, as if attempting to remove the weapon from his flesh. He struggled to fill his shocked lungs with air, then collapsed to the floor, totally motionless.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, madly pushing his way through the dead bodies of orcs.

The cave troll seemed to have enjoyed sticking its hapless victim and wasn't paying attention to its surroundings. Merry and Pippin clambered onto the troll's back, poorly imitating Legolas' earlier actions, and madly stuck their swords into the troll's skin repeatedly, until it brushed them off. Two skillfully placed arrows from Legolas' bow through the troll's mouth left it careening dead to the floor of the cave, and the few straggling orcs, seeing their beast defeated, scurried out of the tomb and into the empty darkness of the mines.

Horrified, the Fellowship rushed to Frodo, who was still laying face down, motionless in a corner of the chamber. Aragorn pulled the hobbit up, his face riddled with sadness. A sputter, then a cough came from the hobbit, and they all gasped. Frodo sat up with a groan, and saw the faces surrounding him full of confusion and shock.

"He's alive!" Sam exclaimed joyfully.

Frodo gazed up at his companions. "I'm alright. I'm not hurt."

Aragorn shook his head in amazement. "You should be dead. That spear would have skewered a wild boar!"

Cristiel blinked as she spotted a glimmer from beneath Frodo's shirt. "Look!" she exclaimed, pointing to his chest.

Gandalf smiled. "I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye."

Frodo dropped his eyes and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a shining shirt of chain mail underneath, glittering white and gold in the flickering torch light. It was not been broken where he had been pierced by the pike.

"Mithril!" said Gimli in awe, his eyes glittering like the armor. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins!"

Frodo gave the dwarf a small smile, though Sam was still staring at his friend in consternation. It obviously hadn't hit him yet.

They took a few moments to collect themselves. Gimli surveyed the destruction of Balin's tomb sadly, as Aragorn quickly wrapped Cristiel's arm. Though the ranger said nothing, his expression was not a pleasant one, and Cristiel could only guess he was wishing she had never come with them.

Then, to all their dismays, the drums began again. The screeches of goblins came like an avalanche, and Gandalf motioned wildly towards the splintered doors of the chamber.

"To the bridge of Khazad-Dûm!"

--

She knew they were done for.

Never in her life had she imagined that this many orcs could abide in Moria, much less any place on Middle Earth. She swallowed, clutching her sword with her one good hand. The other was still much too painful to begin to use. The Fellowship stood with their backs to each other, facing the enormous horde of goblins that had overtaken them and now had them completely surrounded. The creatures cackled and sneered at their "prisoners," of whom only Gimli was willing to leer back at them with a bark of defiance. It really seemed like they were done for.

But as everyone knows, there can always be a bigger problem.

An ear-splitting roar came from one end of the hall. Everybody turned, including the orcs, who stopped screeching at the Fellowship, and began, instead, screeching in fear. They swiftly retreated up the stone pillars to the gaps in the ceiling from which they had come earlier, and like cockroaches, scuttled away in the shadows. The hall grew silent and empty, save for the orange light that danced on the walls. There was a deep, thunderous growl, and an ominous shadow followed in its wake, disappearing as quickly as it had made its appearance known.

The silent Fellowship turned to face the growing light, which resembled more and more the light of a roaring fire.

"What is this new devilry?" murmured Boromir.

Cristiel noticed the uncharacteristic look of terror on Legolas' white face, and suddenly felt a horrible fear cease her heart. She turned to Gandalf, but the wizard had shut his eyes, hunching on his staff in deep contemplation. She then glanced at her father, but he also wore the same look of fear that she knew she carried on her face.

The menacing roar came again, drawing steadily closer to them. Gandalf opened his eyes and spoke.

"Now I understand," he said wearily. "What an evil fortune."

"What is it?" Frodo asked frantically.

"A Balrog, a demon of the ancient world."

Now Cristiel knew for certain they were done for.

"This foe is beyond any of you!" Gandalf cried. "Run! The bridge is near!"

They fled across the wide expanse of the Second Hall, and through a tunnel that led up a narrow stair. They came through the door, with Boromir rushing forward at their head. The stairs disappeared in front of him, and he flailed on the edge, his torch tumbling into the black depths.

Cristiel careened down the stairs close behind him, and in her rush did not notice the gaping chasm until she collided with his back. She clutched at him, and in her actions, pulled him down on top of her, saving them both from tumbling over the edge. As her back hit the stairs, she grunted at his weight, but he rolled off and pulled her up. The others of the company were barely able to check themselves as well.

Gandalf suddenly moved to the rear of the company, leaning heavily on his staff. Aragorn stopped and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but the wizard pushed him away.

"Lead them on, Aragorn!"

Aragorn hesitated, until Gandalf shoved him away.

"Do as I say! Swords are no more use here, but if the sun is shining outside, we may still escape! To the bridge!"

Aragorn turned away then, and they followed him down the stairs, hugging the wall, until they came to the chasm. Across it and a short ways away, was the bridge.

It was dangerously slender, arched, with nothing underneath to support it and no hand holds or railing to stop one from falling off. They began to cross it none too carefully, and Cristiel suddenly discovered what it was she was deathly afraid of. She dared not look down, and going back was not an option. It was at this moment that she couldn't make herself set another foot on the bridge. She let the others go by her. Her heart felt as though it was raking against her chest, and her feet were frozen to the ground.

"Right now is not the best time to be taking a breather, love," Boromir almost laughed as he came up to her. She turned and gazed at him with wide eyes.

"I can't—It's too—" she breathed raggedly.

Boromir looked at her curiously. She looked past him. Gandalf was coming now, and close behind him was the Balrog.

"Over the bridge! Fly!" the wizard called.

Cristiel gulped. She felt foolish, and suddenly very insecure.

Boromir shook his head, and grabbed her hand. Her left hand. She winced as he squeezed it none too gently, but he succeeded in dragging her onto the bridge. She felt a fiery heat rise behind her, accompanied by an otherworldly roar that made her legs want to move faster than they could, and for the moment, the gaping chasm beneath her was forgotten. But by the time she reached the other side with Boromir, she felt as though she might pass out. Dizzy and nauseous as she was, that didn't stop her from trying to pull away from Boromir as she saw what was happening on the bridge. Gandalf stood firmly in the center of the narrow precipice, facing their demonic pursuer.

"You cannot pass!" he cried.

The Balrog drew itself to its full height and with a terrible roar, a great burst of flame rose up. Two black wings of shadow stretched from one end of the hall to the other, and on its head were two curved horns. A mane of fire crackled down its back, and it held in its hands an enormous flaming sword and a long whip that flashed and sparked.

"I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor!" Gandalf drew forth Glamdring, and a flash of white light filled the cave. "The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!"

He stood his ground as the Balrog stepped onto the bridge and raised its sword.

"Go back to the shadow!"

The demon's sword crashed down upon Glamdring like fire upon ice, the former shattering into molten fragments that tumbled into the abyss below them. Gandalf raised his staff above his head.

"_You shall not pass_!"

He slammed the foot of his staff into the bridge, and an explosion of blinding light rocked the cave for a moment. The Balrog gave an irritated snort and continued his way completely onto the bridge. Quickly, the foundations that suspended the bridge began to crumble under the demon's weight, and it tumbled into the abyss.

From their position of safety on the other side of the chasm, the Fellowship relaxed a little. Cristiel watched as the Balrog's fires slowly dissipated into the inky blackness, and her heart slowed its hysterical thumping within her chest. Gandalf turn back towards them, his face weary with lines of fatigue, gray hair plastered to his face with sweat.

Then without warning, the Balrog's fiery whip leapt up from the darkness, sparks flying, and coiled itself around the wizard's legs. He gave a cry and tumbled off the bridge, barely catching himself by the tips of his fingers.

"Gandalf!"

Frodo rushed forward, but Boromir caught him and held him back tightly. Cristiel's heart resumed its panicked rhythm, and time seemed to freeze.

Gandalf struggled to hold on as he stared up at his companions in realization, and dismay. "Fly, you fools!" he ordered, barely audible, his voice carrying to their ears like a whisper. Then his fingers slipped, and he tumbled into the darkness.

"_No!_"

Frodo's heart-wrenching cry came like a last desperate plea, echoing through the mines. He grabbed at Boromir's arms tightly, and the man scooped him up, carrying him away from sight of the bridge. The others of the Fellowship had already made for their exit, and Boromir followed them, charging up the last staircase.

Cristiel stared into the darkness, blinking. Her ears were clouded with the fading roars of the Balrog. The whole world seemed to fade away. She clenched and unclenched her fists, but there wasn't anything she could do. Salty tears stung her eyes, and, forgetting Boromir, for the first time, she wished she had never come with the Fellowship, just so she wouldn't have witnessed the fall of their beloved wizard.

An arrow whistled by her head and she tore her gaze from the chasm. Aragorn took her arm. He too was shocked; she could see it on his face.

"We must go," he said quietly.

She stared at him, still blinking, her mouth open but saying nothing. Boromir's faint cries far away made her turn, then she looked again at the the black abyss. Across it, orcs were gathering in the hundreds, and more arrows came flying at them. Aragorn took her arm tightly, and they ran out of the line of fire, up the last staircases, and outside, into the light of day. But Cristiel did not notice the light that blinded her, nor the throbbing headache that ensued. She collapsed to the ground, and could do nothing more for a few moments than let the tears flow.

A great light had gone out.

* * *

And there you have it. I hate this part of the original story. I cry every time I read this part in the book, and I know I didn't do it justice by a long shot. Anyway, you can expect chapter seven within the next ten days or so.

~Raz


	7. The Heart of Elvendom

Author's Note: Well, I'm back. Gah, I'm such a bad procrastinator. Thankfully spring break is giving me more free time than I could ask for, so I finally finished this next chapter. I'm hoping to get chapter 8 posted by the end of this week too, but we'll see. Don't get your hopes up.

PS: Almost forgot. I've given up trying to translate most Sindarin, so almost any dialogue that is in all italics is Sindarin. Or Dwarvish. It should be obvious when read in context.

* * *

**Chapter VII: The Heart of Elvendom**

Year 3019 of the Third Age  
January 15

"Legolas, get them up."

Aragorn wiped his blade clean in one smooth swipe, his darkened eyes surveying the mourning Fellowship. They were splayed upon the ground, holding each other in comfort. Some stared aimlessly into the distance, their eyes glazed with sorrow.

"Give them a moment for pity's sake!" Boromir protested, standing from where he had been wrestling with Gimli. The dwarf was struggling with him and desperately wanted to get back into the mines.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" replied Aragorn. "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien."

Cristiel looked up suddenly through tear-blurred eyes.

_L__órien . . . home . . ._

The thought sent a burst of warmth through her heart. Home. That was all she wanted now.

"Come Boromir, Legolas. Get them up," Aragorn persisted. He went over to Sam and helped him to his feet. Legolas moved reluctantly, caught in a daze of confusion, but gently pulled the younger hobbits to their feet.

"Cristiel."

The velvet voice caught her attention and she gazed up at the figure standing in front of her. Boromir offered his gloved hand and she took it, rising slowly to her feet. He gently brushed dirt and tears from her face as she let out a shaky breath and gathered herself together. The others recollected themselves slowly, waiting for Aragorn's word.

"Come. We have many miles to go, but in Lothlórien we will find safety."

--

They pushed onward late into the afternoon, only hurried by Aragorn's warnings of advancing orcs. The Misty Mountains stood cold behind them, silhouetted against the setting sun and casting long shadows across the ground. Further to the north was Caradhras. He was laughing at them in the clear sky, a blue sheen that covered none of the glory of the mountain's red, snow-speckled peak.

A few hours later, they came over a crest in the hills and saw stretching to the horizon a wide, green forest glittering like a bounty of emeralds in the evening light. The River Celebrant twisted like a silver snake through the forest and Cristiel felt her heart lighten at the sight.

"That is Lothlórien, the Golden Wood," she said quietly, gazing at the forest with peace in her eyes. "I have not been here in nine years."

"You are not from Rivendell?" Boromir asked.

She shook her head, surprised with herself that she hadn't told him. "No. My parents were married in Lórien, and I was raised there until I was fourteen."

"And after that?"

"Rivendell," she replied simply.

A sudden revelation of understanding seemed to lighten Boromir's jade eyes and he tightened his grip on her hand.

--

By nightfall they had come to the edge of the forest, and were immediately struck with a deep sense of the mystery, and what the hobbits referred to as the "magic" of the wood. Cristiel smiled at the feelings and memories that swept over her, observing that Legolas seemed to share these feelings.

"Lothlórien, the fairest of all the lands of my people," he mused. "There are no trees like those of this land. In the autumn, their leaves turn gold and do not fall until spring, when the boughs are laden with golden flowers. Do you remember it, Cristiel, when the leaves fall in the spring?"

She smiled at the elf. "I can recall a little, yes. The ground is covered in gold in the spring, and the trees form a high golden ceiling, held up by trunks like pillars of pure silver. They are called mallorn trees and they grow only here in Lórien."

Meanwhile, Gimli was grumbling at the casualness of the conversation and his axe was poised nervously in his hands. He motioned to Frodo and Sam.

"Stay close, young hobbits. They say a great sorceress lives in these woods, an elf witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell and are never seen again!"

"Please, Gimli. That is just a rumor spread by those who have not even seen this place," Cristiel chided. "The Lady of the Wood is kind—"

"Here is one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily," Gimli continued, ignoring her. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

Suddenly they were surrounded by the sound of many bows being strained. A company of elves materialized from the trees, holding deadly arrows steadily train in the Company's faces. Legolas drew his own bow defensively, but they were outmatched three to one. Cristiel stood tensely, scanning the faces of the elves. She recognized a few, but none acknowledged her. Something about them had changed.

"The Dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Gimli sneered, but Cristiel sucked in a breath. She remembered that voice . . .

Its owner appeared to be the captain and he came lithely forward. Cristiel shifted in order to see his face and found herself staring at the elf who had once been her closest friend and mentor. Haldir's steel blue eyes flitted over her face, but they bared no emotion and exposed nothing. He turned quickly away without saying anything further and motioned for the Fellowship to follow his battalion of elves into the forest.

--

They went deeper into the wood as the sun disappeared completely, the dark air sinking onto them like a cold, heavy blanket. The elves led them onto a series of flets built high above the ground, where the wind was even harsher, biting right to the bone. Haldir appeared again and immediately nodded to Legolas.

"_Welcome Legolas, son of Thranduil."_

"_Our Fellowship stands in your debt, Haldir of Lórien,"_ Legolas replied, raising his hand solemnly to his chest.

Haldir looked to Aragorn. _"Ah, Aragorn of the Dúnedain, you are known to us."_

"Haldir," the ranger acknowledged.

The marchwarden gazed at the remainder of the Fellowship, and Cristiel gave him a small, shy smile. His features hardened suddenly, to her confusion, but she saw the daggers his eyes sent her father before Gimli spoke up.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves," he said loudly. "Speak words we can all understand!"

Haldir eyed him suspiciously. "We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the Dark Days."

"And do you know what this dwarf says to that? _Ishkhaqui ai durugnul_!" The venom in his voice ran viciously thick.

Aragorn promptly grabbed Gimli's arm. "That was not so courteous," he hissed.

Cristiel cringed at the expression that formed on Haldir's face. _If looks could kill, Gimli wouldn't be standing right now, _she thought.

The marchwarden moved down the line of the Fellowship, his attention dropping straight to Frodo.

"You bring great evil with you," he said, his voice laced with malice. He turned back to Aragorn. "You may go no further."

--

The night deepened as the waning moon rose above the trees. The Fellowship had waited quietly for hours while Aragorn tried to convince Haldir to let them continue on their journey. Cristiel knew the marchwarden was simply toying with the ranger. Haldir enjoyed biding his time, carrying out things meticulously. He always made sure that everything was in order, and as a result, he was almost obsessively compulsive and absolutely loathed spontaneity.

Of course, being his absolute opposite, Cristiel could not wait to get out of his clutches. He spoke in a patronizing manner that was only suitable for Lord Elrond and other elves in positions of superior power. Haldir was one of several marchwardens that were in charge of the defense of Lothlórien's borders, and she had always thought him stuck up. But now he seemed hardened, probably from his time spent in the field. She couldn't imagine the atrocities he might have witnessed, and she didn't want to try.

After what had felt like an eternity, Haldir came over to where they were waiting.

"You shall rest here tonight, then we will come to the city of the Galadhrim on the morrow."

He disappeared into the darkness after that, avoiding Cristiel's efforts to make eye contact with him. She sighed and sat back against the trunk of a mallorn tree growing through the floor of the flet. The Fellowship slowly made themselves as comfortable as they could on the hard wooden floor, high above the ground. Sam moved himself as far from the edge as possible, keeping an eye on Frodo all the while. The ring bearer had hardly slept or said anything at all since they had escaped Moria.

Cristiel leaned her head slowly against the silver bark and let her eyes droop shut. The sounds of the forest slowly faded and returned at regular intervals as she attempted to fall asleep, until Boromir's voice stole her out of her dozing. She turned towards the velvet sound, but his words were not directed towards her.

"Gandalf's death was not in vain, Frodo. You cannot give up all hope for the death of one companion," he said. "You carry a heavy burden. You cannot carry the weight of the dead as well."

Cristiel felt tears well in her eyes as she thought of their beloved wizard. She sniffed and rubbed her face with dirty hands, shutting her eyes to the world, as if she could shut out the pain altogether. A moment later, she felt a warm presence settle itself beside her. Gloved hands gently inspected the wound in her arm and she opened her eyes again to see that his blurry features had tightened somewhat.

"Is my arm going to be all right?" she whispered.

A smile crept onto his face. "You'll live."

She leaned into him then, and sleep finally washed over her in a warm sea of comfort.

--

_The mangled limbs of men and horses were dashed upon the ground, a rank graveyard of unburied corpses, trampled underfoot by hordes of orcs and dissipating legions of horsemen and soldiers. The riders gave a great cry and charged at their enemy, blond hair whipping out behind them like the tails of their mounts. She turned and watched as they rushed past her like she was a ghost. Then the beating of horse hooves was canceled out by snapping bones, blood curdling screams, and steel clashing against rusted steel._

_Above her, the sky broiled like a cauldron, black with shadow. Shining, crimson blood covered the grass, and she could smell it too. The world seemed to spin around her, or perhaps it was she that was spinning. Something darkly terrifying appeared, landed before her; a black shape cloaked with evil. She tried in vain to flee. A chill crawled into her bones and suddenly she felt as though she was frozen in place. Her feet were sinking into the ground, as if she was caught in quicksand. The suction of the ground rising about her legs pulled her slowly down. Even her arms felt frozen to her sides. And a great menace surrounded her._

_All of a sudden, everything faded into a dark mist, and a great eye of roaring fire materialized, its red flames licking about her feet like the waves of a mighty ocean. Its vertical black pupil stared mercilessly and unblinking, a threatening void that sent a grip of horror over her. Muffled by the din of the fire, a harsh voice chanted curses in a rough, unknown tongue. So distant, yet so close._

_She felt the heat of the flames on her face and the voice grew more intense. The land around her began to shrink, sinking into liquid shadow. Above her the flames grew higher, and below her there was nothing. Absolutely nothing._

_Then she fell._

_--_

January 16

Cristiel woke with a jolt, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. She put a hand to her forehead and found that she was covered in a cold sweat. She glanced at Boromir. The man was sound asleep, his arm draped around her shoulders. She swallowed and shut her eyes, but the picture of the eye wreathed in flame filled her vision again. She opened her eyes slowly, trying to calm her breathing. Above the trees, the sky was beginning to turn a paler shade of blue and the stars were slowly fading. She breathed the morning air in through her nose. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep now.

A moment later, she heard a sweet melody of Sindarin floating through the air. She peered up into the branches of the mallorn above and saw Legolas, perched on a limb, gazing into the distance and calmly singing the mournful song.

"_Mithrandir, Mithrandir, A Randir Vithren  
ú-reniathach i amar galen  
I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen.  
In gwidh ristennin, i fae narchannen  
I lach Anor ed ardhon gwannen  
Calad veleg ethuiannen."_

"_That was beautiful, Legolas,_" she said quietly, knowing the elf would hear her just fine.

Legolas climbed nimbly down to the flet, looking forlorn. He almost smiled, but stopped as he looked at her.

"You are troubled, Estelwen."

He knelt quietly, being careful not to disturb Boromir.

She sighed. "I hoped you wouldn't notice. 'Tis nothing really. Just a dream."

"Dreams have meanings, my friend," said Legolas. "Perhaps the Lady of the Wood will have the answers you seek." He stood and glanced at the sky. "It is dawn. Shall we wake the others?"

Cristiel nodded and gently prodded Boromir. Perhaps Legolas was right. She needed answers . . .

. . . but to what questions? She bit her lip. Despite having lived with them all her life, she still found elves to be most bewildering, at best.

--

They walked for most of the day, until Haldir led the company up a steep hillside through the trees. Finally, they reached the top and were taken aback at a most breathtaking view. Only several miles away, a large hill rose out of the forest, laden with mallorn trees that rose like natural skyscrapers above the rest of the forest, shining with a golden luster. Beyond, the forest of Lothlórien stretched for miles and miles, even to the horizon. Haldir lost his high-and-mighty tone as he gazed warmly across the land.

"Caras Galadhon: the heart of Elvendom on earth. This is the city of the Galadhrim, home of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light."

After walking through the woods for what seemed like ages, they passed over a bridge and stepped through the gates of the city. The sun had set below the horizon by the time they reached their destination, but most of the party walked dumbfounded. High above, winding around the trees, were tall spiral staircases. Flets of all sizes sat at every level. There were elves everywhere one looked, and Sam felt like he had died and gone to heaven, not that he wished to.

They climbed a staircase into the upper reaches of the city, and by now, they were wearier than ever. Finally, they stepped onto a wide flet which Cristiel immediately recognized as the "palace" of sorts where the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood lived. Soft light wafted from some unseen source, the roof above shone golden with mallorn leaves, and the walls were soft green, surrounding them on only one or two sides.

Coming down the staircase before them, Lord Celeborn held the hand of his wife, Lady Galadriel. The Lord's hair was long and silver, his face ageless, and the Lady was dressed in a gown of pure white, shining flawlessly, her long hair as golden as the leaves above. Cristiel was immediately soothed by their presence.

Celeborn gazed hard at Aragorn. "The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone." His emotionless blue eyes took in the Fellowship, person by person. "Nine there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? I much desired to speak with him, but I can no longer see him from afar."

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land," said Galadriel softly. "He has fallen into Shadow."

"He was taken by both Shadow and flame: a Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria," Legolas said.

Galadriel gazed calmly upon the Fellowship. "Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his full purpose." She surveyed their downcast faces, resting her eyes on the dwarf. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-Dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glóin. For the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief." Her piercing blue eyes paused on Boromir. He trembled, growing nervous under her stare, and turned away. She lifted her eyes from him and gazed for a moment at Cristiel, who was staring at the floor. She looked up slowly and Galadriel smiled reassuringly.

Celeborn continued. "What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf, hope is lost."

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all." Galadriel moved her gaze to Sam. "Yet hope remains while the company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

The Fellowship bowed in farewell, and Haldir led them away. As they began the long descent down the stairs, Cristiel stopped and turned suddenly.

"Estelwen, I wish to speak with you privately in several days. There are some matters of importance we must address."

Galadriel was nowhere to be seen. Cristiel shrugged and followed her companions down the long, winding stair and through the forest to a temporary camp.

--

Darkness enveloped the trees. Cold and quiet, but for the tiny frogs by the water. Cristiel's heart felt at ease, but chilled. The heat from the Balrog was an easy memory, something she could just recall and suddenly feel all over her face. A lump rose in her throat and she felt her eyes begin to burn again. The wizard had died to save them all from that horrible beast. She shuddered under her blanket and shut her eyes again. Sleep was not being friendly this night. She turned onto her side. Her gaze now rested over the wide gray trunk of a mallorn tree and three steadily rising and falling blanket lumps nearby: the Hobbits. One lump was missing, Frodo's spot. She wondered, but the listlessness of the night washed over her mind and she quickly forgot this odd reality.

Grass rustled behind her, and she turned over again. A pair of boots passed nearby, supporting two legs, over which hung the familiar travel-stained overcoat of her father's. He made no motion towards her, but continued past her, past the sleeping hobbits and the border of their camp, disappearing behind the wide shadow of a mallorn. Cristiel sat up and pulled her cloak around her shoulders against the cold night air. Pushing her blanket aside, she considered putting on the slippers given to her, but she decided to go bare. She stood and quietly stepped into the grass, smiling at the sensation of the cold blades between her toes. Going in the direction she had seen Aragorn go, the camp quickly disappeared behind the trees.

She came to a place in the woods that was empty of any sign of Elven civilization, save for the worn path that covered her feet in soft soil, winding between mallorn trunks. She couldn't find Aragorn, but gazing around her she suddenly felt dizzy, almost overcome. She had separated herself from the camp, from Boromir, and by doing so had opened herself up to a rush of emotions and memories from her childhood. The soft light of the silver lamps hanging high above glittered and danced on the forest floor, casting strange and wonderful shadows every which way she looked. She could practically see her mother's face if she thought about it hard enough, soft and wise even in the midnight shadows. But thinking this way brought her back to Rivendell and she felt a lump grow in her throat again. If only she had stayed, if only she had not been so foolish... She would have given almost anything to have the image of Gandalf's fall erased from her memory. Almost anything, save Boromir. He was her reason for leaving Rivendell, among one other excuse. He was, and she genuinely felt this, her other half. It was the fear of losing him that drove her to continue with the Fellowship. In her heart she knew they would never be parted. But in the back of her mind, there was a nagging feeling that she chose to ignore.

--

January 17

The following morning, the Fellowship met with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel on more official terms. Under their helpful guidance, Aragorn decided it would be best if the Fellowship remained in Lothlórien for about a month, in order for all of them to fully recover their strength and heal their wounds before they continued on towards Mordor. Cristiel was content with her father's decision to stay in Lórien and was pleased when each person of the company was given a private flet. Her own flet was small and quaint, furnished with a comfortable bed and a writing desk of maple wood. A matching armoire stood in one corner, in which Galadriel's handmaidens had personally provided several gowns. They had insisted that her grimy travel clothes be washed and put away while she was in Lórien.

As soon as the morning meal was concluded, Cristiel was dragged away to the healing house at Aragorn's request. There, her arm was scrubbed, treated, and bound so it felt like new. She was grateful that the wound was not deep, and none of the healers seemed as worried about it as Aragorn and Boromir were. But she understood that their feelings had merit and said nothing of it.

She began to feel unusually weary in her body as the day grew late. She had spent most of the time outside, where she could read in peace under the trees, something she found to be truly relaxing. It was strange to her that she was even willing to do something that had seemed so dull and unexciting before, but after all the miles she had traveled on foot, not to mention venturing over _and_ under mountains, she needed something to help her unwind. Just being back in Lothlórien had already begun to ease her mind.

She looked up from the pages of the book in her lap as long-strided footsteps came rustling through the leaves in her direction. It was Boromir. She perked up as he came closer, but noticed that there were frown lines in his forehead. His fingers massaged his temple.

"Are you all right, Boromir?"

His emerald eyes met hers. He was silent for a moment, obviously contemplating something very deeply.

"I do not know, love."

He came over to the gazebo where she was lounging, but he did not sit down. She watched him curiously as he gazed around them at the trees and the flets high above them. Somewhere in the distance, the hobbits could be heard laughing voraciously.

"Has it ever spoken to you?"

Cristiel looked up at him, blinking in confusion. "What?"

"The ring? Has it affected you?"

She bit her lip. Her thoughts had been so preoccupied with Boromir and the events that transpired in Moria that she hadn't given it much thought. "I think it gives me nightmares," she replied softly.

"Does it speak to you?" he pressed tensely.

She shook her head slowly. "I can't recall..." She met his eyes again and swallowed.

"Everyday it speaks to me. It puts thoughts into my head and I cannot shut them out. When I was asleep last night, it entered my dreams. It taunts me, Cristiel!" His hands were almost shaking and he leaned against the gazebo to steady himself.

"You have to fight it."

"I know what I have to do!"

She flinched at his harshness. His green eyes were now glimmering strangely.

"But in some way, I know the ring could be used against Sauron," he continued, lowering his voice.

"Aragorn said that the ring answers to no one but its master—"

He knelt beside her, taking her hands tightly in his own. "Fate has placed the ring in _our_ hands for a reason, Cristiel. This is an opportunity we shouldn't let go to waste."

Her eyes flitted over his features. "You truly believe this, love?"

She felt his grip on her hands slip.

"Perhaps, but I am not sure."

She shook her head, pressing her lips together in a firm line. "It would destroy everything we have traveled here for. Why would you risk that?"

"Why should we destroy it?" He stood abruptly, letting her hands slide away. "I cannot understand why we would allow a powerful weapon of such magnitude to be destroyed when we could use it to defeat Sauron? Someone would only need to put it on one time, just one time, and the world could be forever saved from destruction."

"You must not believe its lies, Boromir." Cristiel stood and came closer to him. "I do not know much about the world, but I do know that the ring is dangerous. Haven't you seen how it has effected Frodo already? He never eats, he barely sleeps, yet he is trying to resist the ring's power. Can you imagine what it would do to someone who welcomed its power and tried to use it?"

"The race of Men is stronger than you think, Cristiel. The Men of Gondor are noble and courageous. Surely one of my people has the strength to challenge Sauron."

"Not with the ring."

"Then with what? The sword? Every day we tarry here with the elves, Sauron's forces multiply. His hand is already stretching beyond my country's borders. By the time we reach Mordor to destroy the ring, it will be too late!"

"We must try."

"If that is all we can do, then it does not lend credence to a victory against Mordor," he replied.

"Would it be better if we stood by and watched as Sauron devoured the world?" Cristiel said, flustered. "Have you no faith in Frodo?"

"Have you no faith in Men?" Boromir spat.

She stopped then, unable to reply, clenching her jaw shut. For once she couldn't look at him. She turned away, crossing her arms in frustration.

"I never said I didn't, but I have lived my entire life among the elves. Did you expect me to think otherwise?"

There was no reply, only deep exhalation.

"I trust only what my father, my grandfather, and Gandalf had agreed upon," she said.

"That the ring must be destroyed," said Boromir.

She nodded, still not looking at him. "I do not think there is any other way." She stepped down from the gazebo, ignoring his earnest plea, and walked away into the trees under the fading light. She had never felt so agitated in her life.

* * *

Translations:

"_Ishkhaqui ai durugnul!"_ = I spit on your grave!

"_Mithrandir, Mithrandir, A Randir Vithren ú-reniathach i amar galen I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen. In gwidh ristennin, i fae narchannen I lach Anor ed ardhon gwannen Calad veleg ethuiannen." = _Mithrandir, Mithrandir, O Pilgrim Grey No more will you wander the green fields of this earth. Your journey has ended in darkness. The bonds are sundered, the spirit is broken, The Flame of Anor has left this World, A great light has gone out.


	8. Fate and Choice

_Author's Note:_ Yay! I made good on my promise! I hope you like this chapter as much as I do. I cracked up at one line in particular. See if you can guess which one. x]

* * *

**Chapter VIII: Fate and Choice**

Year 3019 of the Third Age  
January 18

Breakfast concluded with a food fight between the hobbits because somebody had taken the last sweet roll. Gimli later admitted to the crime, but he would never tell the hobbits themselves for fear of their retribution. Cristiel had remained silent throughout the course of the meal, and afterwards disappeared into the forest to one of her secluded spots that only she knew of. Aragorn wondered what had gone on between she and Boromir the day before, but when he tried to talk to his daughter over the meal, she didn't say anything at all. By the time she had left the table, he decided it would be better to let Boromir handle the situation. The Gondorian immediately got up and followed Cristiel at a safe distance through the woods, hoping she would stop and turn and say something. She did stop and turn at one point, only to turn away again. He kept up the pursuit. He knew she would talk eventually.

"You don't have to keep following me, Boromir."

"But I don't mind looking at the back of your head," he replied.

He waited as the corners of her mouth lifted slightly and she turned towards him, her hands clasped behind her back.

"I'm sorry for... for walking away yesterday. I should have tried to explain myself."

"'Tis alright, love. You explained yourself fully."

"I've been miserable all morning. I do not agree with your view on the ring. If my father found out—"

"Aragorn doesn't need to know," he cut in. "I will tell him when the time is right. Besides, if you were paying attention at the council in October, you would know he is already well aware of my stance on Gondor's situation."

Cristiel grinned as she remembered the incident at the Council of Elrond, when she had revealed her hiding spot by going after Sam. She remembered when she saw Boromir staring at her for the first time, and how uncomfortable it had felt. Now, as he was staring down at her again, she felt totally at ease.

"I am very sorry." She took his hand and slowly intertwined her fingers with his. "Will you forgive me?"

"I already have," he said softly. His eyes dropped to her lips. She smiled and met his mouth softly, letting her eyelids droop shut. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. It was just the two of them under the trees, her arms pressed against his broad chest, their lips interlocked, the morning light dancing around them. She never wanted this to end. It was perfect.

--

February 14

The Fellowship remained in Lothlórien for twenty-six more days, resting, eating, and enjoying themselves in whatever ways they found pleasing. Cristiel and Boromir spent practically every waking moment together, and when they were separated she couldn't think of anything else other than him. Haldir had failed to show so she decided that he wasn't interested in renewing that old friendship. It wasn't something she dwelled on.

It was on the fourteenth of February that Galadriel called Cristiel to an audience with her, and Cristiel realized with dismay that the Fellowship had merely two days remaining in the Golden Wood before they would continue on their quest. Then she remembered that the Lady had said she would see her "in several days" when the Fellowship had first arrived in Lórien, so this helped her feel a little more relaxed. She hadn't remembered how casual Galadriel was when it came to timing.

So it was with much curiosity that Cristiel made her way quietly through Caras Galadhon and up a long, winding flight of stairs towards Galadriel's court. Finally reaching the top, she paused and waited for a handmaiden to guide her further in, but to her surprise she was greeted by the Lady herself.

"Welcome, Estelwen. When I said I wished to speak with you in private, I sincerely meant it." Galadriel smiled brightly and extended a slender, white hand. "Please, come with me."

Cristiel took the hand offered to her and followed the Lady up another flight of stairs. Dressed in an iridescent ivory gown, Galadriel seemed to glow and shimmer as the sunlight hit her golden hair. They came out onto a small open flet near the top of the mallorn, allowing for an impressive view of Caras Galadhon far below their feet. Cristiel stared in wonder at the view that stretched out to the horizon, which melted into the sky hundreds of miles away.

"It seems the powers of this world have a melody in mind for you."

Cristiel turned from gawking at the view and frowned slightly. "What do you mean, my lady?"

Galadriel turned from admiring the view herself, her features ethereal and compassionate. "I know of your feelings for the man from Gondor. I know he loves you as much as you love him. But I fear for the future of you both."

Cristiel shifted now, listening intently to the Lady, her great-grandmother.

"Everyday the Shadow in the East grows, my foresight is reduced," Galadriel continued. "It will not be long until the world breaks under the stress of the Shadow, and you will have to decide your path, Estelwen."

"I am a member of the Fellowship of the Ring," Cristiel replied. "My path is to go with Frodo."

"Yes, but the Fellowship will not last. It is already breaking." Galadriel gazed at her firmly. "He will try to take the ring. You know of whom I speak."

Cristiel's eyes widened with shock, then lines of disbelief appeared in her forehead as Galadriel continued.

"If the Fellowship continues into Mordor as a whole, the ring will destroy you all, one by one."

"I do not believe you. I cannot believe you! Boromir is an honorable man. I have trusted him with my life. I love him!"

She shut her mouth to keep from saying anything more that she might regret and looked away from Galadriel's intense blue eyes.

"If the Fellowship is broken, what will happen to us?" she asked quietly.

Galadriel smiled. "Your fate and the fates of those you love are unknown to me. Whatever happens will be meant to happen, and there is no such thing as a 'coincidence.'" She caressed Cristiel's chin gently with a neatly manicured finger. "Do not follow your heart, for it can be deceitful. You must trust the judgment of your father, and he has been very wise thus far." She paused and turned to look out over the land. "War is coming. You must be willing to stand aside from the battlefield of Men if you wish to survive it."

"But what of Boromir? You said—"

"I do not know what will happen, child. I cannot see the future as some think."

"But your mirror..."

"It is better for some not to look into the mirror," Galadriel replied with a soft smile.

Cristiel sighed. They stood in silence for a time, watching as the sun crept higher into the clear blue sky, the shadows it left on the ground adjusting accordingly. Feeling as though this was a sign that she should leave, Cristiel turned to bid Galadriel farewell.

"Wait, Estelwen, there is one more thing."

Cristiel lingered as the Lady gracefully disappeared into her chambers, then promptly returned carrying a long, slim bundle wrapped in silky cloth. Galadriel removed the cloth to reveal a sword sheathed in its scabbard. She held it out to Cristiel.

"I have seen your sword and it is in dire need of replacement, as I am sure you have realized. Elladan should have furnished you with a new blade before you left Imladris." Galadriel eyes seemed to sparkle. "It is yours. Take it."

Cristiel slowly took the sheath and withdrew the long blade. It flashed in the sunlight as she turned it over. Fingering the leather-wrapped hilt with both hands, she looked to Galadriel for affirmation.

"This sword was crafted by our finest smiths just for you. It is called Hallamarth, for your fate is concealed to me."

Cristiel gazed at the blade with admiration, then shook her head. "I cannot take this. It is so new and finely crafted. I need no such thing."

"You will, Estelwen. The time to use it will come soon enough, I am sure. Go and do not make a show of this."

The Lady smiled in farewell and Cristiel curtsied, still looking astonished. She turned away and slowly sheathed Hallamarth, admiring the newness of the blade. Then she made her way quickly back to her flet to stow away the sword until it was time for the Fellowship to depart.

--

February 15

A steadily increasing stream of people had begun to populate Caras Galadhon within the past week and Cristiel discovered that there was going to be a wedding the day before the Fellowship was to leave. She decided she would enjoy herself as much as she could, since it could be the last time she would ever be able to do so again. The walkways throughout the city had been finely decorated and beautiful lighting had been strung from branch to branch and tree to tree, lighting up the wood until it shone and glittered like she had never seen before.

Throughout the vows ceremony, Boromir kept insistently squeezing her hand and she tried hard not to laugh. As the newly married couple shared a kiss in front of the entire assemblage, he squeezed her hand even harder before letting go to break into joyous applause. Cristiel wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him right then and there. It was too much seeing another couple wed.

As they gradually filtered into the reception area, Cristiel felt someone gently grip her shoulder and she jumped. Turning, she came face to face with Haldir. He stood aloofly with a crooked smile on his face.

"Hello," she said, unsure what his intentions were. She had not seen him since they arrived in Lórien a month earlier.

"Estelwen." He nodded in greeting. "Isn't it amazing how time can change a person? You look lovely tonight."

She smiled softly, still confused. She wanted to ask him why but thought better of it. She bit her lip as he took her hand and placed it around his arm, and they began to stroll among the wedding guests.

"Tell me, how is it that you convinced Elrond to allow you outside of Rivendell? The moment I saw your face on the border I knew it had not been Aragorn's decision."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes.

"I am in love, Haldir, with a man from Gondor. I wanted to follow him wherever he went."

His features remained unreadable. "Are you two engaged?"

She blinked at his forthrightness. "No," she said softly. "Not yet. But I am sure we will be—"

"As soon as the war is over? I've heard that one before."

"Excuse me?"

"Forget I said anything." He let her arm go and stood facing her now. "It was wonderful to see you again, Estelwen." He raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it, then disappeared into the crowd.

She stood where she was, her brow puckered, a strange look on her face, and feeling rather awkward. "He hasn't changed a bit."

"Who, love?"

She felt two hands slide around her waist and her heart fluttered.

"An old friend. He's always been nosy, but just now he asked me if we were engaged."

"What did you tell him?"

"Well I was going to tell him we would be engaged after the war was over, but he finished my sentence for me. Then he just walked away." She waved an arm in the air for emphasis.

Boromir chuckled, sending a wave of hot air over her neck and collarbones. Cristiel just heaved a sigh of frustration. Across the courtyard, music began, slowly at first then it picked up speed. They watched as the newlyweds danced towards the center of the empty floor and then were soon joined by several more couples. Before Cristiel had a chance to protest, Boromir grabbed her by the hand and whirled her into the dancing throng. They spun and dipped and swam altogether as if they were one being with the music. Then Boromir planted his lips on hers as the music hit a climax and the worries of the outside world faded away. She didn't even care that they had kissed in public. She loved him too much.

The song ended and the floor was left again to the newlyweds, while the hundreds of guests continued to mingle and feast. The gentle pinging of a silver spoon against a glass goblet suddenly drew the attention of every elf in attendance, and the heads of the Fellowship turned as Galadriel rose from her seat near the front of the court, holding her goblet aloft.

"I would like to propose a toast," she said, her clear voice ringing out across the area. "To Olorin."

"To Olorin!" the assemblage replied solemnly, raising their glasses.

"May he rest forever in the hearts of the lives he saved."

Murmurs of agreement traveled through the crowd and Cristiel felt a little self-conscious as several pairs of eyes turned towards her and the other members of the Fellowship that were scattered throughout the reception. Galadriel was right though. Gandalf had saved their lives, and he had saved the quest from destruction. It had been exactly a month since the day he fell, but time had flown by so quickly, as it often did in Lothlórien, that she had forgotten.

She made her way towards a table piled high with every sort of dessert and sweet thing imaginable. Merry and Pippin had lingered in this area during the entire reception, due to the lack of ale available, and they looked like they were ready to pop. She raised an eyebrow in their direction and snatched up the last peppermint candy before Merry could.

"Sorry," she said with a grin. "You look like you've had your fill."

Merry shrugged, nodding as he rubbed his stomach. Pippin burped.

Cristiel shook her head and headed to one of the richly decorated long tables that could seat fifty people. She had not been seated for more than a minute when she remembered Galadriel's words from the day before.

_He will try to take the ring. You know of whom I speak._

The Lady's voice echoed in the back of her mind as though she were speaking right next to her. But she couldn't shake the nervous feeling that the Lady could be right.

_I could take the ring myself, to keep it from harming Boromir,_ she thought._ Just long enough to keep it safe, then return it to Frodo when the time is right._

A sudden horrible realization fell over her in wave and she shook herself out of her thoughts.

"What am I thinking?" she said quietly.

"How could I possibly know?"

She turned with surprise in her seat. Haldir was leaning over her and she hadn't even noticed. She scrunched her nose as heat flared on her face. Seeing this, Haldir resolved to save the moment by extending his hand.

"Dance with me, Estelwen?"

She blinked and almost turned away exasperated. What was _he_ thinking? She glanced across the courtyard and saw Boromir's attention was focused elsewhere for the moment.

"You are a friend. Of course I will!" she replied finally.

He seemed to relax as confidence replaced the tension. They went around the table and stepped into the throng of sweeping dancers. She watched him steadily, noticing the smirk that had spread across his face.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," she said, a hint of question in her voice.

"And why not?" he retorted.

"I never said it was wrong to enjoy oneself through dance," she replied with a laugh.

"No, of course not."

His steel eyes penetrated her face uncomfortably close for her liking. When the song was over, she pulled gently away from his grasp and stood to the side of the room, her hands clasped innocently in front of her. Haldir joined her, and they stood together without speaking for awhile, just admiring the dancers, the music, and the general splendor.

Cristiel kept a steady eye on Boromir until he turned and caught it. She grinned at him, laughing quietly, and he smiled back, his green eyes glittering from across the courtyard. Then her attention was diverted back to Haldir, who was no longer looking down his nose at her, but directly into her eyes.

"You are not a child anymore, Estelwen."

"No, I am not," she said slowly. "I will be twenty-four come March."

"I know," he replied. "I remember when you were born."

She looked at him funny. "That's an odd thing to say at an occasion like this."

He nodded, turning back to gaze at the scene around them. "Forgive me, then, for having a superior memory and a longer life span."

She gasped and turned to face him, but there wasn't a hint of animosity in his features. She wanted to say _something_, but it was obvious that he was laughing at her silently.

"I meant that in jest, Cristiel. Did the Mines of Moria steal away your sense of humor in their long shadows?"

She muttered something unintelligible, allowing a smile to grow on her face, then her attention refocused as Boromir came up to them.

"Might I intrude on this friendly conversation?"

Haldir smiled with closed lips. "Be my guest." He bowed to Cristiel and left them.

"You two go back, do you?" Boromir was grinning at her.

"He taught me how to ride when I was younger. I suppose you could say he was a mentor of sorts."

"Is that all?"

"What?" She looked at him funny. "Boromir! I was a child!"

His grin widened and he pulled her into his arms. "Just curious."

He muffled her next words in a passionate kiss that made her stomach flip and her heart leap.

--

February 16

They rose early the next morning, the day they would leave Lothlórien. Cold mists shrouded the river as boats were prepared and supplies were loaded. The Fellowship stood on the bank of the Celebrant expectantly as Galadriel stepped from her own boat, carved in the likeness of a graceful swan. Nine elves appeared, each carrying a soft cloak of gray-green cloth. These were placed about the shoulders of each member of the Fellowship and clasped with a green broach crafted in the shape of a mallorn leaf.

Celeborn walked solemnly in front of them, his sharp eyes moving from face to face. "Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people. May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."

Each member of the company was then gifted by Galadriel herself. She began with Legolas, handing him a finely crafted bow.

"My gift for you, Legolas, is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of our woodland kin."

The elf prince took the bow gingerly, testing its strength and gazing at it with eyes full of wonder.

The Lady turned to Merry and Pippin. "These are the daggers of the Noldorin. They have already seen service in war."

The hobbits carefully unsheathed their new weapons, then Pippin looked up at Galadriel with wide eyes.

"Do not fear, young Peregrin Took. You will find your courage."

To Sam, she presented a small, simple box, adorned with a single rune on its lid.

"For you little gardener, I have only this. Inside, there is earth from my orchard. It will not help you on your road nor defend you against peril, but if you keep it and one day see your home again, then perhaps it will reward you."

Sam stared at the box in his fingers. "Have you run out of those nice, shiny daggers?" he asked hesitantly.

Galadriel smiled and moved on, while the hobbit became red in the face and turned away, muttering inaudibly to himself.

"To you, son of Gondor, I give a simple gift." She held out a slender belt made entirely of small gold leaves intricately woven together. Her blue eyes pierced his greens until he flinched and bowed his head. Then she looked at Cristiel with the same piercing gaze.

_Remember what I have said to you. Your love for Boromir may come with a cost. But if you are willing to accept the risks, then I have nothing further to give you except my blessing._

Cristiel bit her lip and fingered the hilt of the sword Hallamarth, whose scabbard was now strapped to the belt about her waist.

The Lady then turned towards Gimli. "And what gift would a dwarf ask of the Elves?"

"Nothing, nothing..." He shook his head, then hesitantly raised his wary face. "Except to look upon the Lady of the Galdhrim one last time, for she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth."

Galadriel laughed out loud, her voice like music, her smooth face glowing with more radiance and beauty than any of the company had ever seen before. Gimli mumbled and stuttered to himself.

"Actually, there was one thing."

--

They began loading into the boats, with Boromir, Merry, and Pippin climbing easily into one, and Frodo and Sam not so easily into another. Legolas managed to guide Gimli into the third boat, but not before failing twice. The dwarf looked like an oversized wet rat by the time they finally succeeded. Before Cristiel climbed in behind them, Aragorn gently pulled her aside out of earshot of the others, his gray gaze serious.

"You do not have to continue with us. You may stay here if you wish. It will be safer."

She shook her head as the corner of her mouth twitched. "I knew we would eventually have this conversation."

The ranger raised an eyebrow. "After we cross the river, every step we take will bring us that much closer to Mordor."

"I know, ada. But I will go where Boromir goes, and if it takes my life then I shall die by his side," she replied firmly.

"You are young, Cristiel," he said, looking down at her sadly. "I did not wish this for you."

She hesitated and lost the opportunity to talk with him further as Celeborn approached them. The elf lord gripped Aragorn's shoulder tensely and Cristiel decided it would be better to leave it at that. She made her way back to the river but was stopped by that voice again.

"Leaving without saying goodbye?"

She turned around and a smile immediately formed on her face. "It was wonderful to see you again too, Haldir," she said satirically.

His eyebrows raised expectantly. "You could stay, you know."

Cristiel sighed. "What are you? My second father?"

Haldir rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'd prefer to see myself as your elder brother."

"Well that's a lovely thought," she said sarcastically, letting a slight giggle escape.

His features softened as a smile melted the ice over his face. He took her wrist gently. "You should stay, Estelwen."

She shook her head, her lips forming words but no sound escaping her throat.

"You should stay," he repeated, quieter this time.

She lifted her chin and looked right into his eyes, something she found very uncomfortable to do. "I have made my choice," she whispered, then slipped out of his grasp. She returned to the river to climb into the boat with Legolas and Gimli. When she looked behind her, he was still standing there, his features emotionless, his jaw set in ice.


	9. Of the Breaking of the Fellowship

**Author's Note:** Well I've finally come to it. This is my longest chapter so far, so I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter IX: Of the Breaking of the Fellowship**

The Fellowship traveled down the Anduin for three days without much incident. Aragorn paddled with Frodo and Sam, and Boromir shared a boat with the other hobbits. Legolas paddled his own boat and Cristiel sat in front of him, while Gimli rode at the prow staring gloomily into the dark water as it passed around them. His quiet grumbling eventually gave way to an uncharacteristically softer voice that took both Cristiel and Legolas by surprise.

"I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest," said Gimli. "Henceforth, I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

"What was her gift?" Legolas asked curiously.

Gimli gazed up at the clear, blue sky, choosing not to answer right away. He seemed unusually forlorn to Cristiel.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," he said finally. "She gave me three."

Legolas smiled. "The Lady was very gracious indeed, and to all of us I might add, for I received from her a fine bow of the Galadhrim." The elf lowered his voice. "And I hear that you, Estelwen, received a new blade of unmatched Elven craftsmanship, no?"

Cristiel raised an eyebrow as she turned to meet the elf prince's dancing blue eyes. Wishing she could outright scold him, she barely managed to keep a calm demeanor. "How would you know of this?"

Legolas gave her a small smile. "I have my sources."

Gimli attempted to stifle a chuckle in his glove. She opened her mouth to protest, but the elf continued.

"To be serious though, I think it would be wise for you to have someone who will watch your back."

Cristiel turned again to face the bow of the elvish boat. "I have Boromir," she said, feeling confused.

"Yes, but he is weak, as are you and most of your human kin."

She blinked and turned again, being careful to keep her balance and not rock the boat. "Are you saying that Aragorn is—"

"No." Legolas retained his soft smile that was quickly beginning to irritate her. "I am merely pointing out that you ought to be accountable to someone other than your father and Boromir, given that you are young and sometimes overzealous in everything you do."

Cristiel was listening now, even if she was incensed by Legolas' words. "So for example, if I came to you with . . . a proposition," she offered leisurely, "which perchance I wanted no one else to know of, would I have your complete and utter confidentiality on the matter?"

Legolas was silent for a moment and she turned to survey his expression. The corner of his mouth leaned upwards and he gave her a piercing look that made her wince. "Perhaps," he said finally. "That is, if it doesn't involve putting yourself in possible danger. In that case, I might reconsider my confidentiality."

She bit her lip and turned away again. She had been hoping for a more satisfactory answer, but leave it to an elf to have her hanging on edge at every word, never knowing what he would really do should such a situation arise.

--

Their fifth night on the river quickly fell humid and cold, leaving a blanket of mist to settle low about them. The Fellowship beached their boats in a small clearing on the western bank that was sheltered only by a large rocky outcrop, and by the forest further beyond. Sam went to fix plates of cold sausage for Frodo and anyone else who was hungry, while Legolas moved further towards the forest, his suspicious gaze watching for the first sign of trouble. Cristiel sat on the hard ground, leaning against the craggy rock face that caused her to shiver as it emanated cold. She was thankful to be able to stretch her legs after sitting in the boat for most of the day. She stared up at the black sky, noticing with disappointment that there were no stars. She had wanted to look at the stars because they were so familiar to her, always the same as in Rivendell. They were a piece of home she could always have with her. But now clouds covered them, leaving the sky as a black abyss.

With a sigh, she looked back towards the river. Boromir was peering cautiously around the ruins at something on the water. A log floated nearby, seemingly against the strong current. A skinny, frog-like hand came up and wrapped itself around the log, as two glowing orbs appeared above it. Boromir murmured in alarm, staring at the creature in the river.

"It's Gollum," Aragorn said quietly, standing nearby. "He has tracked us since Moria. I'd hoped we would lose him on the river, but he's too clever a waterman."

Boromir glanced back nervously at the ranger. "If he alerts the enemy to our whereabouts, it will make the crossing even more dangerous."

Aragorn nodded, pulling back into the shadow of the ruins, closer to Cristiel. "I have tried to catch him once or twice over the past few days, but he is slier than a fox and slippery as a fish."

Boromir followed him into the shadow, out of sight of the river. "We must be more careful, Aragorn," he said keeping his voice low. "I have seen Mordor orcs patrolling on the eastern shore."

Aragorn said nothing, nibbling on a piece of cold sausage.

"Legolas' eyes have not missed them either," Cristiel said quietly. "I am sure, Boromir."

The Gondorian glanced for a second at the elf, who was perched on a boulder close to the tree line, then acknowledged her with a smile. Cristiel stared at him, if only trying to see his face in the thick darkness. She shivered in the night air and wished he would come sit next to her and hold her tightly like he had done so many times in Lothlórien.

"Aragorn, Minis Tirith is a safer road," Boromir said at length. "From there we can regroup, strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."

The ranger stirred from his silent contemplation beside Cristiel. "There is no strength left in Gondor that can avail us."

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves!" Boromir replied, ignoring Cristiel's sharp inhalation. To her frustration, Aragorn did not retort back, and Boromir continued.

"Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty," the Gondorian admitted. "But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see it!" His voice rising suddenly, he grabbed Aragorn's elven cloak. "You are afraid!"

Cristiel's lips parted as she sat up straight, alarmed at his body language, his voice. His normally regal and respectful demeanor had become something fiercer, something she didn't recognize. A chill crawled up her spine.

"All your life, you have hidden in the shadows, scared of who you are... of what you are!"

Aragorn took a step back, readjusting his cloak, then he straightened and leaned in on Boromir. "I would not lead the ring within a hundred leagues of your city," he said, almost hissing. He turned away without another word, glancing at Cristiel as he passed.

From what she could decipher in her father's swift gaze, it was not approval. She pressed her lips firmly into a thin line and looked at Boromir. He leaned angrily against the rock face, one arm perched on his hip. His shoulders were rising and falling in his frustration, and she could almost hear him seething. Without hesitating further, she stood and carefully picked her way around two sleeping hobbits and a snoring dwarf.

"You are not helping with my father's approval of you, I think," she said quietly.

"He never really approved of me to begin with, love."

She could hear the irritation in his deepened voice. She reached for the hand that was pressed against the cold stone ruins and pried it from the rock, intertwining her fingers with his rough, calloused digits. "He is only trying to do what is best for Frodo."

He sighed. "What is best for Frodo is to strike out from Minis Tirith, where we can all be strengthened and refreshed. But he refuses to see it."

She reached up to stroke his jawline, feeling the dark stubble under her fingers. "I think he does not trust your people, just as you do not trust his."

She felt his jaw tense at these words, but his arms only reached gently around her, enveloping her in warmth and comfort. He pressed her body close and she shivered as his lips brushed her forehead.

"I would that my people become his people," he whispered, hot breath coursing over her face.

She looked up, barely making out two troubled eyes in the darkness.

"I would that my people become your people," he continued. He slowly planted soft kisses down her face, causing her eyelids to slip shut.

"When this is over?" she whispered, tangling her own fingers in his black hair.

"When this is over," he echoed.

He crushed his lips against her mouth, tightening his grip around her. To Cristiel, it was as if Gandalf's fireworks had suddenly illuminated the night.

--

Three days and nights passed on the river without any sign of orcs on the eastern banks, and though Frodo had kept a wary eye out, Gollum had failed to make his presence known as well. The wily creature had probably heard Aragorn's words to Boromir and decided it would be better to remain out of sight.

The night sky was clear, scattered with millions of stars and one thin crescent of a moon that slipped below the horizon soon after sunset. They rowed down the central current of the river, nonetheless keeping a steadily safe distance from the east shore.

"I am not familiar with these waters," Aragorn said to them. "We are approaching the rapids of Sarn Gebir, but I don't know how far it will be before we come upon them. The river has already become dangerous with eddies, but we cannot risk getting caught into the rapids. We must not press forward too quickly lest we come upon them without warning."

They drifted on the current, frequently laying down their paddles, but keeping sharp eyes out for white water and ears open for the rushing fury that would accompany it. Without the light of the moon, the darkness seemed impenetrable.

"Look out!" Sam exclaimed suddenly, pointing ahead of them. Pale in the night, white water rushed and swirled around rocks that jutted like sharp teeth out of the river.

"Back!" cried Aragorn. "Turn if you can. Paddle against the current!"

They thrust their paddles into the water and pressed against the stream, pushing their boats ever closer to the eastern banks on a calmer flow of water that went around the rapids.

"This is madness! We will be driven upon the bank!" Boromir shouted. The black shadow of the eastern shore of the river loomed above them on their left. Suddenly an arrow whizzed by overhead, splashing into the water on their right.

"_Yrch!_" Legolas cried in his native tongue.

"Orcs!" Gimli shouted.

A stream of black arrows shot from the shoreline, where black shapes could be seen running parallel to the river, silhouetted against the trees.

"Cristiel, take the paddle!" Legolas ordered.

She did and Legolas strung his bow, sending several arrows flying through the blackness towards the eastern bank. Two arrows whizzed by just behind her, one catching the hood of her cloak. She gripped the smooth elven paddle until her knuckles hurt, thrusting through the water with all the strength she could muster. More arrows bounced off of Gimli's helmet with a clunk or missed and landed in the river. She cringed and tried to crouch lower into the boat, gritting her teeth against the river, expecting at any moment to be pierced with a black arrow. She couldn't see a thing in front of them. The darkness encroached upon everything despite the millions of stars that hung in the sky. She heard Aragorn call out from in front of them so she pushed them onward. Her arms ached fiercely and she struggled to keep rowing.

They pushed the boats upstream around the rapids and made for the western bank. More arrows splashed into the water around them or flew overhead, but no more struck them and everyone came out unharmed. Cristiel's breathing had become labored and Legolas took back the paddle so that they moved upstream with more speed. As the river grew silent and the arrows eventually ceased, she breathed a sigh of relief. Following Aragorn, Legolas steered their boat towards a shadowed cove, if only to help them catch their breath. Then he lay down his paddle and climbed silently out onto the bank. He held his bow at ready, peering across the river towards the eastern shore, searching for a target. Harsh orc voices echoed in the distance, but they seemed to be moving further and further away. Cristiel looked up at the elf, a faint glowing silhouette against the night and completely intent on shooting something.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he cried out suddenly.

She didn't know why until the stars disappeared. She could barely make out the sight of a huge beast with massive wings stretched out across the sky, turning the night into a black abyss, and hurtling towards them. A chill crawled up her spine as the shadow let out a horrible screech that grated her ears. Orc cries lifted towards it in greeting from across the river. Suddenly Legolas nocked his bow and sent an arrow flying straight into the creature. It let out a painful, gurgling scream and lurched backwards before tumbling into the woods beyond the eastern bank. The orc voices raged, then quickly dissipated into the darkness until silence took hold. And the sky was clear again.

Cristiel let out the fearful breath she had been holding and gripped the sides of the boat as Legolas jumped lithely back in. The company took up their paddles and pushed towards the shore behind them, staying silent as if they feared another attack. They made no fire but stopped on the shoreline, huddling in their boats. The night was too dark so they would have to wait until dawn to continue.

"That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend," Gimli said to Legolas, breaking the cold silence. "A mighty shot!"

"I thank the Lady for her fine gift," Legolas replied. "The bow of the Galadhrim is strong and sure. But who can say what it hit?"

Gimli shook his head. "I cannot. But I am glad that the shadow did not come nearer. I did not like it at all."

"It reminded me of the Shadow in Moria," Cristiel said. "The Balrog."

"It was not a Balrog," said Frodo quietly. "It was something colder. I think it was . . ." He stopped then, unwilling to make his thoughts known. "No, I will not say. Whatever it was, its fall disappointed our enemies."

Aragorn nodded. "But where they are and how many, we do not know. We must not sleep tonight, and we must keep our weapons close."

Cristiel jumped when she felt a hand grip her shoulder, but turning, saw it was only her father. His concerned face was barely visible in the darkness, yet she knew he was there, and Boromir right beside. She felt for the hilt of her sword and drew in another deep breath in preparation for a long, sleepless night.

--

Morning came, warmer than the last. The frothing head of Sarn Gebir was visible downriver in the pale light. It was decided that the rapids would prove too dangerous to try and maneuver, even in elven boats, so they filed out onto the shoreline. The contents of the boats were brought up to a level place on the bank, then the boats were flipped and carried up behind. Cristiel supported the stern of her boat behind Legolas and Gimli, and led by Aragorn, they climbed up the bank a short ways into the trees, following the path that he had scouted. The terrain was rough and it was clumsy work, but she pleasantly found the boat to be strangely light. As they came to the top of the rise, the terrain suddenly changed, becoming thick with underbrush and rocky gullies, and littered with holes where water trickled from inland offshoots of the river. Boromir and Aragorn took up the task of carrying the boats over the land, one by one, while the rest of the company went after them with the supplies, picking through the rocky marshland on their own.

Then the land cleared and they were able to journey together. They followed the river, where the roar of Sarn Gebir was slowly dissipating on their left. A great cliff wall appeared to the south, so continuing on foot was deemed impossible. The day was drawing late and as it had began to rain, they stopped to rest under tree cover. Some hours later, they pushed their boats back into the water under a grey and dreary sky, the rainfall intensifying as if deliberately trying to dampen their morale. Night came and went, and the rain still poured heavily, but the company remained dry under their elven cloaks. The clouds drifted north as morning grew old, and the fog that had seemed to follow them lifted, allowing the sun to shine beams of warmth onto the river.

The quickly changing weather lightened Cristiel's spirits and she happily obliged when Legolas offered her his paddle. He had begun to bore of rowing, and the river was flat and smooth as glass, so he said she should have no problem. This time was different from the first, given she didn't have adrenaline rushing through her, but it was at first no more difficult than swinging a sword. After an hour of constant rowing, their boat had progressed noticeably less than the others, and Cristiel's arms screamed at her to be given rest. She decided she enjoyed rowing not at all as much as she thought she might, and promptly returned the paddle to Legolas, who smirked and pushed their boat ahead to pass the others. Cristiel leaned back and crossed her arms in displeasure at the elf's ability to handle the craft so easily, but she got over herself as the scenery swiftly began to change.

Ahead of them, rising out of the steep rocky banks of the Anduin, were carved two monstrous statues, one on each side of the river, leaving only a narrow passage of swift current between them. Cristiel lifted her eyes to behold the magnificent sight and a mixture of fear and awe came over her.

"I have seen drawings of these in Imladris," she said. "I never dreamed I would lay my eyes on them."

"Behold the Argonath! The Pillars of the Kings!" Aragorn called.

Cristiel grinned at him and watched as the monolithic structures passed by overhead. _Whoever built __these must have wanted to intimidate all who entered this place,_ she thought.

Formed in the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, each statue held out one hand, palm forward, as if threatening those who came from the North. Their enormous sandaled feet stood exposed under long, billowing robes that draped from broad shoulders, and their faces were chiseled with the craftsmanship of ancient Gondor. Crowns rested upon their heads and birds nested within, but the Argonath stood unblemished and daunting, inspiring power against all the elements, both of nature and of Man.

The boats shot through the narrow passage on a swift current between the statues, and they came into a large, still lake. The sun had moved past the noon position, and in the distance could be heard the roar of the mighty Falls of Rauros, marked by the disappearance of the land and water into a cloud of broiling mist. From their course in the center of the lake, they could clearly see the two hills of Tol Brandur, Amon Lhaw rising on the eastern shore and Amon Hen to the west. They beached the boats on the west bank to catch a little rest, ate quickly, and went further into the night. As dawn came, they found themselves in the long shadow of Amon Lhaw. Aragorn called out to them, motioning towards the western shore of the lake, and Parth Galen. Wilderland behind them, they had reached the final stage of the quest. Rauros blocked their passage south, and they could now choose to turn west, or go east to Mordor.

--

Once they had beached the boats, they climbed out and onto the shore. The hobbits quickly set to work building a small fire on which to cook themselves a hot meal, and Legolas once again stationed himself close to the tree line, his piercing gaze learning every tree and shadow and ruin.

"We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats, and continue on foot," said Aragorn. "We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh yes? There's just the simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks," said Gimli. "And after that it gets even better!"

Pippin glanced up from his meal with Sam and Merry, and for once in his life, stopped eating.

"We will have to find a way through the Dead Marshes, a festering, stinking swamp that stretches as far as the eye can see!" the dwarf continued.

"That is our road," said Aragorn bluntly. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my strength?" Gimli replied, settling on the ground with a grunt. He lit his pipe indignantly, growling to himself. "Recover my strength!"

Cristiel leaned against a tree trunk, fingering a bite of lembas bread and half listening to the conversation by the shore. She watched idly as Boromir pulled his shield strap off his shoulders and settled the armor against the base of the tree. He then straightened, cracking a warm smile in her direction that she returned. Content to remain near the calm of the river with the others, she watched him still as he ambled away into the trees alone, and thought nothing of it.

"We should leave now," Legolas said to Aragorn in a hushed tone. Cristiel turned curiously towards the conversation.

Aragorn shook his head. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me," the elf replied, peering back into the trees. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind."

Aragorn studied his friend's face but said nothing else and turned back towards the boats where he was unloading supplies. Cristiel glanced at him as he passed, her brow questioning, but he said nothing so she went closer to Legolas.

"What did you see?" she whispered.

Legolas' blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the woods. "Something draws near."

Cristiel bit her lip, feeling a tinge of nervousness grip her and went to grab some more lembas. A moment later, Merry returned with a small armful of kindling and dropped it beside the steady flames that Sam was cooking over. He brushed his hands off contentedly and glanced around.

"Where's Frodo?" he said suddenly.

Aragorn glanced at the hobbits resting on the ground, then looked towards the forest, noticing Boromir's shield propped against a tree. His jaw tightened.

_He will try to take the ring._

Cristiel suddenly felt sick in the pit of her stomach as Galadriel's words came to mind. Looking into the forest, she wished she could see him. Or at least Frodo.

"I'm going for a walk," she said quickly. Aragorn acknowledged her with a nod, and she turned towards the trees. Legolas put a hand on her shoulder as she passed him.

"Be careful."

She smiled with lips closed and went into the forest.

--

Boromir had assured himself he was only going to collect firewood. Doing so would help him calm his mind, which at the present swarmed with contradictory thoughts, and that enticing voice. He wanted to take the ring, to bring it to his father so it could be used to save Gondor. Self-pity swirled in his heart at the knowledge that both Aragorn and Cristiel believed it better if the ring were destroyed, yet he knew that the ring was treacherous, and that it could destroy him and all those he loved.

'Your father would be forever indebted to you, Boromir. Take it and see the glory of Gondor restored.'

_I would never put it on,_ he thought. _I would take it to be used only in the direst hour of need. Why can the others not see that? Perhaps if I only asked Frodo kindly, he would give it to me. Surely, it is too much of a burden for him to bear much longer._

Boromir shook his head at himself.

_No, I cannot! What am I been thinking? Aragorn would have my head as soon as he realized what I had done. No, they both would!_

'The ranger from the north knows nothing of Gondor's troubles.'

_That bloody ranger! He thinks he is some heir of Isildur, come to claim the throne as Gondor's savior. He does not even realize how powerful the ring actually is. Gondor does not need a king if the ring will save us!_

He stopped in his tracks, stunned at his thoughts.

_Am I going mad? The ring betrayed Isildur himself to his death! I too cannot risk my life for such a small thing._

'Such a little thing it is, surely. It is nothing but a trinket…'

_That is true. It has no power over me, and I am the son of the Steward. The blood of N__ú__menor flows in my vei__ns! I will tak__e the ring, for Gondor's sake._

'For the sake of Middle Earth, you must do this.'

And nodding to himself, Boromir stepped confidently up the hill in search of Frodo.

--

The hill that rose towards the peak of Amon Hen was littered with relics of some great civilization past. Massive figures stood like sentinels, watching the land and the river below. Cristiel walked slowly past the remnants of a stone face that was chiseled in the same manner as the Argonath had been, and an awe-inspiring feeling took hold. She lingered for a moment, thinking of how Gondor's domain had once stretched all the way to where she stood now. The trees thinned out as she crested a rise and suddenly she felt something brush past her, stirring up leaves in its wake. It had been something of substance, as she had felt it brush against her cloak. She turned quickly but saw nothing. Curious, she went back in the direction it had come from. She slowly went a few paces back down the hill, then stopped in her tracks. Someone was crying out in the distance.

"Frodo! Come back! I'm sorry, Frodo!"

Her lips parted with alarm. It was Boromir.

--

Boromir lay in the leaves upon the hillside of Parth Galen, his chest heaving with heavy breaths and tears streaming through the dust on his face. His mind whirled, playing back all that he had just done. Frodo's wide, frightened eyes were seared into his memory. He didn't even want to imagine what he himself must have looked like.

"What have I done?" he said to himself ashamedly. He raised himself up slowly on shaking arms, glancing up as he heard footsteps coming up the hill. Something inside him winced.

"Boromir?"

Cristiel hurried towards him, her brow knotted.

"Boromir, are you alright? What happened?"

He stood to his feet as she grabbed his arm, her eyes searching his face. He hesitantly lifted his eyes from the ground, his gaze flitting over her own face.

"I— I'm sorry— I tried—" he stuttered. Swallowing, he wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to steady himself. "I tried to take the ring," he whispered. He shuddered as the words passed over his lips.

--

Cristiel tensed as he embraced her. Her heart thudded against her ribcage. He smelled of sweat. She braced her hands against his chest and tried to stand back from him, gazing up at him nervously. His black hair was littered with leaves and dirt, and tear streaks broke the layer of dust on his cheeks. What had he just said?

"You tried to take the ring," she repeated in disbelief.

His grip around her loosened. She stepped back, blinking, staring at him.

"Forgive me, love," he pleaded. "I made a terrible mistake."

She swallowed. She felt as though she had been punched in the gut. "I didn't think you would. I really didn't. I tried not to believe it. Galadriel even warned me."

"Cristiel, please!"

She backed away, shaking her head. Anger jumbled with confusion, but she bit back her words. He reached for her and she lurched backwards. "Don't touch me!" She watched him with a wary glint in her eye.

"Cristiel, I am sorry, love. I truly am."

Her brow drew tight as tears stung her eyes. Desperation haunted his features. "Where is Frodo?" she asked quietly.

He tensed again. "I— I think he went away up the hillside."

She didn't tear her disbelieving gaze from him, even as she turned in the direction he motioned. She choked on a sob.

"I love you, Cristiel!"

"I know," she whispered, wrenching her fingers. "You— You should find Frodo."

"No!" he cried. She winced at the edge in his voice. "No," he said again more softly. "You must find him. I can't bear to."

"But—"

"Leave me!"

She turned swiftly away. No more words could come. Defeat and vexation had destroyed them. Swallowing through the nausea that shivered its way into her mind, she ran up the steep hillside in search of Frodo.

--

Frodo fled up the hillside, running through a swirling mist that blinded all others to his whereabouts. He ran until he reached the top of the hill, and fell upon a set of stone steps. Cowering behind a ledge in the structure, he peered over the top.

The fog began to shrink. His churning world closed in around him, and he could see clearly places that were hundreds if not thousands of miles away. Ships with billowing black sails on the southern oceans, orcs spilling from their dark tunnels in the Misty Mountains, flames rising from the forest of Mirkwood. The forces of Sauron were moving.

Frodo stared as he turned towards the east, sweat beading on his face. Over the Ash Mountains his vision flew, and across the plains of Gorgoroth past the mountain of fire. The dark tower of Barad-Dûr came into clear view, rising from the fractured ground like an impenetrable iron fortress. It was the very stronghold of Sauron himself. Sharp pillars of adamant and obsidian projected upward like spikes from the black rock, and rivers of lava flowed around the base of the fortress, a boiling, scorching moat.

His view of Barad-Dûr suddenly disintegrated, as if blown away by a mighty wind, replaced by a roiling mass of cloud and fog. Thunder sounded and lightning flashed, and one by one, the faces of the Fellowship appeared. They gazed at him with untrustworthy and venomous eyes, then turned their backs and disappeared into darkness.

Suddenly the Eye of Sauron filled his vision. Blazing yellow, orange, and crimson flames surrounded the black abyss of a single vertical pupil, and a voice more dark and treacherous than he had ever heard before sounded around him.

_They will fall._

Frodo leapt from his seat and tumbled down the stairs. As he hurled himself off the precipice of the seat, he wrenched the ring from his finger in a last desperate attempt to hide. He hit the ground with a thud and the mist cleared as if nothing had ever happened. The sky was cloudless and all was quiet but for a flock of birds that had scattered with his entrance into the world again. He sat up and cleared his head.

He started at footsteps coming up the hill, and scrambled to his feet. Aragorn appeared from the trees and ran towards him.

"Frodo!"

"It has taken Boromir," he replied sadly.

Aragorn edged closer, his voice full of urgency. "Where is the ring?"

Frodo quickly moved back against a pillar of stone. "Stay away!"

"Frodo, I swore to protect you," Aragorn reminded him.

Frodo slowly opened his small hand, his blue eyes shimmering with tears. "Can you protect me from yourself?"

The ring lay in his palm, shining in the sunlight, unblemished and golden, drawing in Aragorn's gaze.

"Would you destroy it?"

Aragorn paused, as if caught in a trance. The One Ring drew him in slowly, and his fingers stretched out to touch it. An eerie, distant voice seemed to call to him:

_Aragorn._

_Elessar._

He took in a breath and peeled his hard, gray eyes from the ring; He knelt down to Frodo's height, taking the hobbit's small hands into his own.

"I would have gone with you to the end," Aragorn whispered. "Into the very fires of Mordor."

"I know. Look after the others, especially Sam." Frodo's voice trembled. "He will not understand."

Aragorn nodded slowly, his eyes close to tears. Suddenly, he noticed a faint blue glow coming from Frodo's sword sheath. "Frodo," he said, motioning to the hobbit's sword.

Frodo drew his blade a little ways and blanched at the blue blade. Aragorn flew to his feet, drawing his sword. "Go, Frodo!"

Frodo hesitated. He wasn't ready to leave his most trustworthy companion to an unknown fate.

"Run!" Aragorn ordered. "_RUN!_"

Frodo backed away, slowly at first, then turned and sprinted down the hill into the trees and towards the river and the boats below.

--

Cristiel's light footsteps crashed through underbrush and brambles as she sprinted up the hillside. Her jaw was clamped tight to keep tears from flowing freely. She felt betrayed, but even more foolish. She knew Galadriel had warned her that this would happen, but she had refused to believe it. She pushed through the forest and suddenly found herself on the top of the hill in a wide clearing. Aragorn walked swiftly towards her, his sword drawn.

"What are you doing up here, Cristiel? Where is Boromir?"

"I left him down there," she said quietly, pointing behind her. She followed him as he paced around the perimeter of the clearing, jogging to keep up. "Ada, he tried to take—"

"I know what he did! Was no warning heeded?"

She was about to reply, but her attention was stolen by a clamor that came from the western side of the hill. A mob of orcs, possibly over two hundred of them, was barreling up the hill towards them. They spotted Aragorn and Cristiel and their leader gave a blood curdling roar.

Aragorn shot Cristiel a hard look. "Stay behind me as long as you can."

She nodded and drew her sword, her eyes wide with alarm. These orcs were less deformed than the orcs of Moria, and they were huge, practically the size of men. She quickly backed away into the shadow of the ruins at the top of the hill, holding Hallamarth in trembling hands. She peeked around the stone pillar and saw her father raise his sword, touching it to his forehead as a sort of blessing. Then he gave a loud battle cry and lunged forward in the enemy throng.

She watched the battle for only a minute from her position of safety. As the orcs pushed Aragorn up the steps of the ruins, some of them spotted her and she had no choice but to charge at them. She blocked the first parry and grunted at her assailant's strength. These orcs were built like men too. She blocked and parried and finally struck down two orcs, then quickly retreated around the back of the ruins. She was already out of breath. She needed at least a few seconds to recuperate and rest her arms, but they surrounded her again. She ran around them like a child playing hide and seek, dodging and ducking blows that carried far more ferocity behind them than she was comfortable trying to fight against.

Aragorn was soon at her back, taking down more orcs than she could count on all fingers and toes. She gasped for breath and desperately parried another orc before it could impale her with its blade. When she felt she could no longer hold off the enemy, two arrows whizzed over her head, sticking themselves into her attackers' skulls. She turned and saw Legolas and Gimli come charging out of the woods.

Her attention distracted for a second, she turned and saw Aragorn's sword protruding through the chest of an orc whose axe was raised above her, ready to crush her skull. She gasped breathlessly as it fell in front of her, and Aragorn immediately grabbed her arm.

"You must get out of here. Find the hobbits."

She nodded, and swiftly turned and hurried into the forest. As she ran, she grabbed at tree trunks to keep from falling down the hill, but despite her efforts, she collided with an injured orc. One of Legolas' arrows protruded from its chest. With a cry, she drove her sword through its neck without hesitation, kicking its body with disgust. "Foul creatures," she spat. Behind her, one of the orc leaders was shouting out orders.

"Find the halflings, you scum! Find the halflings! Kill the rest!"

She swallowed and ran faster down the hill, giving no thought to her footing. Heavy footsteps crashed through the forest to her right and she blocked the blade that swiped at her legs. She glanced up the hill and saw three more orcs in hot pursuit. She parried and caught the orc in its shoulder. It roared and lunged at her. Her shoulders burned from the force they were suddenly subjected to, and after a final block, she turned and ran. She couldn't take on these creatures without injuring herself. And she needed to find the hobbits before the enemy did.

A sudden blast of a horn carried over the land, echoing off every hill, rising even above the roar of the Falls of Rauros. She stopped in her tracks and turned breathlessly. Her four pursuers also stopped, then they turned and charged towards the sound. Her heart pounded relentlessly. _Boromir,_ she thought suddenly. Another blast sounded, more urgent than the last.

Without hesitation, she charged down the hillside after the orcs, her lungs gasping for air. She jumped over a fallen tree, landing awkwardly on a rocky outcrop. Her right foot buckled to the side and she gave a sharp cry as fierce pain erupted through her ankle, shooting up her calf muscle. She stumbled onto the rocks and stars clouded her vision. Then her head connected with a jagged stone, and she knew no more.


	10. The Road Goes Ever On

_Author's Note: _Here's the next chapter for you guys! Please review if you can. I don't depend on reviews to write, but it's nice to get feedback or at least to know that people are reading this and I'm not wasting my time. I feel like this story needs huge improvement, but then what story doesn't? This story has been in my system for a long time and I _have_ to get it out of me, or I will never improve lol. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter X: The Road Goes Ever On**

The sound of water lapping gently against a shoreline greeted Cristiel's ears, and a throbbing pain pulsed through her head as her mind returned to the present. She slowly opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't as blinding light filled her vision, causing the pain in her head to grow stronger.

"Aragorn, she is stirring," said a gruff voice.

Brisk footsteps crunched towards her through gravel. She shut and opened her eyes again, squinting to avoid another onslaught of pain. A gentle hand brushed her forehead and she winced. Her head must have been injured. She turned slightly to see Aragorn kneeling over her, his jaw tight and his eyes cold.

"She would do well to rest here for several days, but we cannot linger long if we wish to subdue the Uruk-Hai," he said, glancing at Gimli.

"What happened?" she whispered, trying to find her voice. The images in her mind were too blurred and choppy to make out anything.

Aragorn's eyes flitted over her face. "We were attacked by Saruman's forces. You were knocked unconscious somehow as your forehead is bruised and cut, but it will heal. I've stopped the bleeding."

She lifted a hand and unsuccessfully tried to feel for the wound in her head.

"She must try and sit up, Aragorn," came Legolas' voice.

Aragorn nodded. "Cristiel, you must try to sit up and we will see how quickly you can come about." He placed one arm under her shoulders and gently helped her sit up and lean against a nearby tree trunk. She inhaled sharply as the dull pain in her head throbbed fiercely again. She was barely ten yards from the shore of the lake where Legolas stood by the water, his back to them. Gimli leaned on his battle axe nearby, a mournful glint in his eye. And one of the elven boats was missing.

Clear pieces of memory suddenly began to replace the fog in her mind. Boromir's attempt to take the ring, the sudden attack of the Uruk-Hai, the horn of Gondor—

"Where is Boromir?" she croaked, suddenly realizing he was missing. "He tried to take the ring from—"

Aragorn laid a finger on her lips. "I know." He brushed dirt from her cheek. After a moment's silence in which Cristiel desperately searched his face for an answer, he said quietly, "Boromir fell."

She stopped breathing, as though the wind had been knocked from her lungs.

"The Uruk-Hai struck him down as he defended Merry and Pippin," Aragorn said. "The hobbits were captured."

She struggled to form words, choking through the knot that had formed in her throat. "What— what about Frodo and Sam?"

"I let Frodo go. Sam is with him."

She said nothing else, raising a shaky hand to wipe away the grimy tears that dripped down her face. Aragorn wrapped an arm around her shoulders again.

"You must stand. We cannot linger if we are to go after Merry and Pippin."

She did not resist his grip around her as he lifted her to her shaking feet. She bit back a cry at a sudden pain that shot through her right ankle, making her head spin. She grasped at Aragorn for support, but quickly steadied herself. The pain in her ankle was not so bad as the pain in her head. Aragorn studied the bruising gash in her forehead, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"You will live," he said, "though we will have to stop more often than I would have liked."

She did not hear him. She walked gingerly towards one of the elven boats, her heart clenching as she drew nearer. She saw his ashen face, eyelids pressed shut, his dark hair spread upon his shoulders. Her knees suddenly grew weak and she swayed, tears streaming through the dirt on a face that became contorted with sorrow. About to drop to her knees, she felt two arms wrap around her waist, holding her back. Boromir's arms had been placed across his chest, the hilt of his sword between his fingers, and the golden belt given to him by Galadriel shining about his waist. She shut her eyes against the scene, praying desperately that it was just a dream, that she would wake up on the ground again, but this time with Boromir crouching next to her.

She thrust herself out of Aragorn's grip, turning away from the sight. One shaking hand covered her mouth as an empty space in her chest silently screamed. She had never forgiven him for what he had done, and now it was too late.

"Cristiel?"

Her father's soft voice came from her shoulder. She didn't look at him.

"Send his body," she choked.

He paused. "Are you sure?"

There was nothing she could do now. She had selfishly left him, angry with him for being unable to resist something that she had no power over either. She cursed herself mentally.

"Yes, adar," she whispered.

Gravel crunched under the elven boat as it was dragged from the shore and pushed into the lake. She did not watch as they sent it out into the main current, on a course towards the Falls of Rauros. She did not feel anything, except the dull ache in her head and ankle, and a blinding pain in her heart where a hole had been ripped. The ache was only made worse when Aragorn spoke:

"They will look for him from the White Tower, but he will not return."

Then they came back up the bank. Aragorn took her arm and led her further towards the trees where their meager belongings lay waiting. He held her sword out, hilt towards her, and she took it silently and sheathed it.

"The Fellowship has failed, Aragorn," Gimli said, his eyes downcast.

"No. Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. We must run light and swift if we are to catch them before they reach Isengard," Aragorn replied, sheathing his own blades.

Cristiel looked at her father through tear-blurred eyes. Her ankle hurt only when she turned it a certain way, or when she put too much pressure on it. She would have to deal with the pain, she thought.

They hid the last remaining boat in the forest and bundled all of the goods they would not need underneath it. Then they left the river and went past Parth Galen. Orc bodies lay strewn everywhere. All around, plants and growing things had been trampled and cut down, making the trail obvious even to Cristiel's untrained eyes.

"This shall be no hard task," said Legolas. "These orcs seem to delight in killing every living thing in their path."

"When we reach more open lands, we will be tracking them over bare ground," Aragorn said. "We will need to run by day and night. These orcs do not seem to care that the sun shines over them, and they do not tire easily."

"Dwarves can go swiftly, and do not tire sooner than orcs," Gimli boasted.

"It will be a long chase, and they have a long start," said Aragorn. "We will all need the endurance of the dwarves." His eyes lingered on Cristiel.

"I can run," she said matter-of-factly.

"Then let us hurry!" Aragorn replied, and he sprinted away through the trees. Gimli grunted, nodding enthusiastically and charged behind him. Cristiel tightened the straps of her small pack around her shoulders and felt a hand on her arm.

"Legolas, I can run," she insisted.

He cocked a golden eyebrow. "Your ankle is injured."

She sighed, exasperated that he even noticed. "Remember what you said on the river?"

Legolas pursed his lips, and gave a curt nod. "You are foolish, Estelwen."

"Well, what else would you have me do?"

"Not tarry here any longer," he replied. "Come!" He sped away into the forest, leaving her in his dust. She stared after him for a moment, took one painful step onto her right foot, then began to run.

--

For the first day and a half of their run, neither Aragorn nor the Uruk-Hai were willing to stop to rest, eat, or even breathe, leaving Cristiel barely hanging on far behind Aragorn and Legolas. She felt as though her right foot was going to burst from pain at any moment, not to mention her lungs. Fortunately, she was not alone. Gimli had begun complaining out loud that he was utterly wasted on cross country.

"In fact," he stated once or twice between wheezing breaths, "we dwarves are natural sprinters and very dangerous over short distances."

They came out of the western border of Emyn Muil and were now running out over open terrain strewn with craggy rocks. Steep dales and sharp ridges were cut into the earth, making their chase even more difficult. Cristiel swore she would never run like this again, especially not on a sprained ankle. It pounded more painfully with every step, but she gritted her teeth and tried to hide the pain from her face whenever Aragorn turned to see if she was keeping up. Luckily, he was so far ahead that he most likely had no idea how she was injured, assuming Legolas had not "reconsidered his confidentiality."

It was only when she heard Aragorn beckon them onward with a desperate "Hurry!" that she growled just loud enough for Legolas to hear. The elf turned and gave her a look that said "I warned you," before encouraging both she and Gimli to keep up.

"We are gaining on them!" he shouted

She assumed he was lying, but his words spurred her onward. Even Gimli had reached a distance well in front of her, so she pushed herself further, preferring his company to running alone far from any of them. In the back of her mind, she knew she was slowing their progress already, but Aragorn was set to make chase until Merry and Pippin were found safely, so she forced herself to run, every step on her right foot more painful than the last. If it had not been for the lembas bread gifted them in Lothlórien, she knew she would have collapsed already. The lembas kept strength in their legs, even when hope began to fail in their hearts.

As the the third day of running wore on and dusk settled over the land, the four hunters' pace steadily fell slower and slower, even compared to Cristiel's wounded pace earlier in the day. Aragorn ran bent over, his feet dragging along the ground. Only Legolas still ran lightly ahead, his sharp elvish eyes following the orcs' movements across the plains many leagues ahead of them. They appeared only a cloud of dust on the horizon to Cristiel, and she saw no possible way for them to ever reach the Uruk-Hai before they arrived at Isengard.

The explanation to their increasingly wearied bodies came as soon as they reached the eastern border of Rohan. Cristiel saw with relief that Aragorn and Legolas had stopped on the crest of a hill, and were gazing out over the land. Wheezing, she came slowly towards them just in time to catch the last bits of their conversation.

"There is something strange at work in this land," said Aragorn breathlessly. "Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us. And I am weary as I have seldom been before, weary as no Ranger should be with a clear trail to follow."

"But this evil will is set before us, not behind us," said Legolas. "I fear it is Saruman who aids our quarry and slows our chase."

"So, Saruman would take the hobbits, hoping to find the ring. But he will not slow us down," Aragorn replied. Turning, he saw Cristiel and Gimli making their way up the hill, both looking ready to collapse. "We must rest this night, and then we will start early in the morning. For now, we give chase till nightfall."

Cristiel sent Aragorn a pleading look, but he was quickly off again. _Just a few more hours of pain,_ she thought.

Night came swiftly, the sky turning from soft blue to crimson, then fading to a black canvas spattered with millions of stars. The four hunters finally came to a stop and cast themselves under an overhang of rock that overlooked the sweeping plains of Rohan. Despite the overwhelming weariness in her bones and the pain in her ankle, Cristiel could not sleep. The night was deathly silent save for her father's steady breathing and Gimli's snores, and a spring wind that whistled around them.

Only three days had gone by since Boromir's passing, and the sting in her heart was much too fresh. She knew she had yet to come to grips with the fact that Boromir was dead, and guilt had taken hold of her for her failure to forgive his actions against Frodo. She remembered the last kiss they shared, standing in each other's arms by the banks of the Anduin under a cloudy sky.

_ I would that my people become your people,_ he had said to her before planting velvet kisses on her forehead. _When this is over._

Now she was here and he was not.

_Are you two engaged?_

_ No, not yet. But I'm sure we will be—_

_ After the war is over? I've heard that one before._

She suddenly understood Haldir's scathing words. Now, war was coming and afterwards, there would be no engagement. She had been so desperately in love, and because of it she had been blind, ignoring the warnings her elders had given her, choosing to follow her heart's beck and call after Boromir. Maybe it would have been better if they had never met at all.

The stars shone mournfully down upon the land. She stared at them, noticing one star that shone brighter than all the rest. It coursed smoothly across the sky, moving slowly east until it came to the horizon and disappeared with a small flash. She sighed and shut her eyes. Her heart was numb, her body was in pain. She knew she would eventually mend, but three days was nothing, even by her standards. And the world was changing quickly. She promised herself silently that she would never give her heart away so rashly again.

--

A gentle squeeze on her shoulder woke her seemingly seconds later, and she opened her eyes to a crimson dawn. Legolas crouched next to her, his face dark and anxious. He prodded her shoulder again.

"The sun has risen red, Estelwen. Blood has been spilt this night, and Aragorn is already keen to get moving."

She wiped sleep from her eyes and sat up, noticing Gimli was still snoring nearby.

"What about him?" she asked as a yawn cracked her features.

Legolas winked and bent down to mutter something into the dwarf's ear that she did not hear. Gimli suddenly leapt to his feet, brandishing his largest axe and glancing wildly about. He stopped when he saw Cristiel staring at him with an amused expression. Legolas could barely contain his laughter.

"Very funny, you pointy-eared princeling," Gimli growled. "Very funny indeed."

Aragorn suddenly came dashing around the rocks, motioning to them vigorously. "We may yet catch them if we do not linger. Hurry!" Then he turned and went away down the hill. Legolas immediately dashed after him, letting out a single musical howl of amusement at Gimli. The dwarf sneered again.

Cristiel scrambled to her feet, blanching as a sharp pang spread in her right ankle and shot through her leg, worse than before. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the expression that spread over Gimli's bearded face. With a forced smile, she set off slowly down the hill behind Gimli, limping more obviously. With every step it grew harder and harder to press on, and the pain grew steadily sharper. She could no longer concentrate on keeping up with the others, and steadily fell behind.

She did not know how many hours it had been since they started off again, but it must have been just past midday when her ankle finally gave out. They had crested a treacherous hill that gave even Aragorn some grief, and then she stepped in just the wrong place. The pain became too overwhelming and she stumbled to the ground with a sharp cry, barely catching herself with her hands. She sat up, gripping her ankle, seething through gritted teeth. _Aragorn is going to be so angry with me, _she thought grimly.

Legolas came bounding up to her first, alerted to her fall by his elvish hearing. Aragorn and Gimli came swiftly behind. Seeing her face twisted in agony, Aragorn gently helped her to a comfortable position against a nearby rock face.

"What happened, Cristiel? Did you twist your ankle?"

Legolas gave the ranger a hard look. "What do you think, Aragorn? She has been hiding a sprain ever since the Fellowship parted."

"You said nothing of it to me," Aragorn replied with hard eyes.

Legolas shrugged. "It would have made little difference under the circumstances."

Aragorn shook his head and ran his skilled hands along her injured ankle. "You could have severely injured what might have been only a simple strain before. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry," Cristiel replied, barely a whisper. "I didn't want to slow us down." She tried to smile, to show that she meant it. Aragorn only shook his head.

A sudden faint rumbling in the distance caught their attentions. Hoof beats, hundreds of them, coming distinctly closer with swift speed. She tried to turn towards the noise, but inhaled sharply as she put too much pressure on her foot. Then she watched in sudden awe as about a hundred mounted riders galloped past them, cresting the hill, their long, golden hair streaming out behind them. The ground shook with their passing.

"Stay here," Aragorn commanded. He stood and strode out onto the rise with Legolas and Gimli. His voice rang out clearly. "Riders of Rohan! What news from the North?"

Cristiel craned her neck to see around the rocks. She watched in wonder as their leader raised his spear and they checked their horses as one, wheeling around back up the hill and surrounding Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, their spears held ready in an offensive posture. Then the man who appeared to be their captain rode forward

"What business do an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

Barely able to hear the conversation that quickly crescendoed into heated tones, she pulled herself back against the rock face, shutting her eyes to ignore her injuries. Moments later, Aragorn's soft voice broke through her light slumber. She opened her eyes and glanced back down the hill. The horsemen were there, waiting.

"Cristiel, you will go with the Rohirrim to Edoras," said Aragorn. "Their Marshal has offered a spare horse for you, and he will see that your ankle is set by their best healers."

"Edoras? But the hobbits—"

"We will seek them out," he replied, his eyes darkening.

She gave a conceding sigh. Aragorn wrapped her right arm over his shoulders so she could lean on him as she struggled to her feet. She inhaled sharply as her right ankle throbbed again, but they slowly made their way down the hillside towards the Rohirrim. The horse that stood waiting for her was a tall, lanky stallion with a dingy bay coat. He stared blankly at Cristiel through dark eyes as she approached him.

The Rohirric Marshal came striding forward then. He was tall and young, with a grim, steely expression, and his long, wavy hair greasy, but as golden as a ripe wheat crop. He gave the bay stallion a gentle pat on the neck, nodding to Cristiel.

"This is Aelodr. He has seen enough of war and is to be released from service in due time. He will bear you well, my lady."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied courteously. She wondered how he knew to address her in the manner he did. She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. Aragorn helped her mount, though she was grateful it was her right foot that was incapacitated and not her left, so she didn't have much trouble. She situated her injured leg firmly in the thick stirrup, the wide bars giving her some brace that she could rely on. She would have to balance more on her knee than was normal in order to keep the pressure off her ankle.

When Aragorn was satisfied that she was comfortable enough to ride without damaging herself any further, he nodded to the young Marshal, who brought two more horses forward.

"These are Hasufel and Arod," said the Rohirric captain, nodding to the gray and chestnut respectively. "May they bear you to better fortune than their former masters." He then strode towards his big-boned dapple gray and swung into the saddle, replacing his crested helmet on his head. "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope," he said, his voice growing darker. "It has forsaken these lands."

Cristiel took up the reins slowly. "Aragorn?"

He turned at the sound of his name from her lips.

"Where are you off to?"

Leading Hasufel behind him, he strode over to Aelodr, giving the bay a soothing pat on his dark neck.

"It's Merry and Pippin isn't it?" she persisted.

Aragorn nodded sadly. "We will follow their trail nonetheless. I have hope still."

Cristiel swallowed softly, not wanting to be separate from her father and friends.

He reached up and laid a hand on hers. "Do not worry about us. We will come to Edoras to return these horses. It shan't be more than three days." Then he leaned into Aelodr's ear and whispered, _"Bear her well."_

"We ride through the night!" cried the Marshal, and the riders began to move off immediately. Cristiel watched fascinated as the throng of horsemen moved as one. Aragorn followed her gaze.

"You should go," he said.

"Navaer," she replied quietly.

Aragorn gave Aelodr a sudden smack on the rump, and the stallion's ears perked. Cristiel braced herself as he immediately broke into a swift trot. After a minute, she glanced behind her to see Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli on their own horses and riding in the opposite direction. She pushed her mount into a canter and went after the Rohirrim.

--

The Marshal certainly hadn't lied when he said they would ride through the night. The sun was creeping steadily closer to the horizon in front of them and they hadn't stopped once. Wherever she was going to end up at the end of their ride, she knew she would be absolutely sore. Her right foot had gone numb from being clamped against the stirrup bars, while the rest of her body ached in general. She hadn't ridden a horse since before the Fellowship left Rivendell over two months ago. She was probably going to have a bruise on the inside of her right knee come morning.

Aelodr was an amiable stallion, soft in the mouth and willing to follow the other horses wherever they went. Cristiel didn't even bother steering the stallion. He knew exactly where he was going and she didn't have the energy to get in his way. He seemed to understand that she was injured and appeared to make an effort to avoid rough places and holes in the land. Of course, this could have just been his preference for his older bones and war-weary tendons.

The Rohirrim finally stopped, but only once and very briefly to water their horses from a cold stream that trickled through a rocky dale. The sky was littered with stars, the sun long set behind the hills. Cristiel found herself nodding to sleep until Aelodr stretched his sinewy neck to drink, yanking the reins from her hands. Goosebumps rose on her neck from the cold wind that swirled around them, and she shut her eyes, imagining she was back in Rivendell, on a forest trail in the middle of a snowy winter.

She recalled one time when she had defiantly galloped away from Elrohir's company, then turned in her saddle and called out to him in jest. Now, she didn't remember what she had said or why. But the next thing she knew, her head had grazed a low hanging branch that was heavy with snow, and she was knocked off her horse's back. Elrohir had come riding up to her and immediately chastised her for being so foolish and insolent. She had been fifteen. She could laugh about it now, but eight years ago it had been extremely humiliating, and painful.

She touched the place on her head where she remembered getting hit by the branch, wincing as her fingers grazed over the recent wound she received at Parth Galen. Suddenly the young Marshal broke through her reverie with a call out to his men. She pulled Aelodr's head up gently from the stream and pushed him into a trot behind the other riders.

If it had not been night, it would have been very strange for her to be riding with all of these unfamiliar men, especially because they were all men of war. But she couldn't see any faces in the darkness underneath their helms, so she was content to ride wherever Aelodr went. As the night deepened, the stallion chose to canter near the head of the column, pressing the limits of space between he and Cristiel, and the Marshal and his big-boned grey. She leaned deeper into the saddle and squeezed the reins to let the stallion know she wasn't interested in competing for the lead. Aelodr just snorted.

To her embarrassment, she heard the Marshal chuckle softly. "He never liked being kept in the rear flanks."

She glanced at him, though she could hardly see him. "My lord?"

"Aelodr. He hates being surrounded by his fellows. He prefers open spaces and the freedom they bring."

"Oh?" Cristiel murmured, letting the corner of her mouth inch up slightly. She liked this horse more and more already. On a whim, she wondered what it would be like to gallop him at full speed. Though he was old, he seemed to have plenty of pep left in him. It was a shame that she barely had the physical capability to ride normally at the moment.

She settled deeper into the steady rhythm of Aelodr's canter, letting the beating hooves lull her mind into a light slumber. She braced one hand on the pommel of the saddle as a safeguard, feeling a sudden rush of exhaustion and sadness sweep over her. Where her heart once pounded warm and loving for Boromir, there was now only a numb, empty cavern.

--

She woke with a start as a pair of great wooden gates yawned before her, creaking open. She straightened in the saddle, bleary eyed, but it was too dark to see anything. Only pale torchlight lit the road that they followed up a steep hillside. She thought she saw the outlines of small buildings around them, but everything soon passed her by save for the whistling of the cold wind. She vaguely recalled slipping from Aelodr's back, almost collapsing to the ground in agony as her right ankle took the brunt of her weight. Strong arms caught her and carried her inside a warm room that hung heavy with the scent of a steadily burning fire. She lay back into soft blankets that her exhausted body greeted zealously, snuggling deeper into them, shutting her eyes to everything.

* * *

Translation:  
_Navaer_ = Sindarin for "farewell"


	11. Edoras

_Author's Note:_ I'm back. Again. You know, I feel like I say that everytime I post a new chapter. I have NOT been neglecting this story by any means. I've just started writing a bunch more stuff, including Lost fanfic with Jacob *squee!* God help me if I ever decide to post THAT. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave feedback so I know people are still reading this crap. Cristiel and Burwena belong to me. Everyone else is the property of the good Professor. May he rest in peace.

* * *

**Book Two: The Land of Horse Lords**

**Chapter XI: Edoras**

The first thing Cristiel became aware of when she woke were the soft furs and blankets that she lay nestled in. They were so soothingly warm and soft on her arms and chest, while her face, being her only body part not swathed in blankets, was greeted with cold, harsh air. The next thing she became aware of almost instantly was an invigorating smell that reminded her of a strong beverage wafting into the room through the open door across the room. The third thing she realized was that the room she lay in was utterly dark, save for a sliver of light that peeked through a crack in the shuttered window above her bed. She rubbed her dry lips together and slowly sat up. She was a little dizzy but gratefully her headache was gone. She gingerly peeled back the blankets she had sunk into, then regretted it as more cold air rushed over her body, shredding the comforting warmth. If her feet hadn't been bare, she probably wouldn't have cared that the air in the room was so biting._ Do they not keep steady fires here?_ she wondered, then: _Why _are_ my feet bare? _and _Where are my things?_

The last question was answered as she turned her head in the pillow, and saw her sword leaning against the wall in the corner and her pack laying next to it. She eased herself up straighter, onto her knees, and reached above her head where the single shuttered window was letting barely a gleam of sunlight into the room. She needed to see the day. She fumbled in the dark with the latch for a few minutes, finally undid it, and pushed the shutters open. The brightness caught her off guard and she raised a hand in front of her eyes. Immediately a blast of freezing air rushed through the window and slammed it shut again. She sighed. That was why it wasn't open, or the room would have been even colder. She lowered herself to the blankets again, her eyes readjusting to the darkness. Carefully, she let her legs dangle against the side of the bed, noticing her right ankle had been set in a simple splint and wrapped tightly. But she had no memory of anything that had happened after she fell into this soft bed the night before. She shrugged the thought away and quietly yawned. She must have slept much longer than she was used to. With bleary eyes, she surveyed the room.

The floor was clean and bare, a simple work of stone masonry that spanned into the adjoining room. The bed she sat on was small and sat against the center of the far wall with the single window. A plain wooden table sat next to the equally plain headboard, and on it there had been set a basin of water and a simple cloth, for washing and drying her face she assumed. She quickly made use of these before attempting to stand up. Putting all her weight on her left side, she stood to her feet, or rather foot, with one hand leaning on the side table. _All right, that's a good start,_ she thought. _Now to walk._

She carefully shifted a little weight onto her other foot and inhaled sharply, immediately falling back onto the bed. She gritted her teeth and stood again, gingerly taking a step back onto her injured foot. She moaned as the familiar pain ricocheted back through her ankle and she clamped her eyes shut, returning immediately to her good leg.

Suddenly, a perturbed female voice shrieked from the doorway behind her. "What do you think you're doing out o' bed?"

Cristiel turned towards the door and suddenly came face to face with a fiery-faced woman. Her wrinkled skin was sweaty, making loose strands of almost-white hair cling to it, and she wore a dark gray dress with a matching apron. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest in an authoritative way.

"Get right off your feet this instant, or I shall have the Lord Éomer himself come in and dispatch ye!" she screeched, waving her hands at Cristiel. "You wouldn't remember a thing if 'e did!"

_As if I don't already,_ she thought, biting her lip. Reluctantly, she returned to the bed and pulled her legs up on top of the furs.

"There you go," the old woman said with a softer tone. "Now, it's well past noon and you must be starvin'. I'll be back with some stew and then we'll wrap your leg tighter so you can 'eal quicker." She scurried towards the door, then paused. "And don't be gettin' up out o' bed again. You know what'll 'appen then." And she disappeared into the next room.

Cristiel sighed deeply and fell back into the covers to stare at the ceiling. She thought the old woman was like the cold wind outside, ready to slap you in the face if you intruded or did something she didn't like. She shivered at the thought of the freezing weather outside and pulled a blanket over her legs and up to her chin, proceeding to chew idly on the inside of her cheek. She sat up when she heard footsteps and her stomach growled, just in time for the old woman to appear in the doorway. In one hand was a bowl of something that smelled absolutely delicious, and in the other was a rough cloth folded neatly into a bundle. The woman crossed the room in many short steps and placed the bowl on the table next to Cristiel's head.

"There you go. Better sit up so you can eat it without chokin'."

She did immediately and plunged a spoonful of the steaming hot broth hungrily into her mouth, regretting it as soon as she realized how hot it was. She held the spoon of liquid in her open mouth, eyeing the woman as she began to unwrap her leg.

"I'm Burwena, the head o' the Healing House, and rightly so I think. We've been busy 'ere of late, so most o' my helpers are out with the Riders or tendin' other patients 'cross the way."

Burwena waved a hand towards the door, where Cristiel assumed there were more adjoining rooms like hers. She carefully emptied the somewhat cooled contents of the spoon into her mouth and relished the simple textures of potatoes and mysterious chunks of meat.

"Now, you should be very grateful to the Lord Éomer for his takin' you in. It's not offen we get a lady in 'ere who's injured 'erself quite like you have. He didn't say where you were from, though it's none o' my business. I'm just 'ere to take care o' you until you can walk again, and then you're 'is problem."

She talked and talked as her hands busily set to work on a stronger splint. Cristiel ate the stew quickly, feeling the warmth slide down her throat and fill her stomach with every bite. Burwena glanced up at her only once or twice

"You never had this stew before? You're not from 'round here, I 'spect. Éomer's men came and woke me right in the middle o' the night and said you were sore hurt and needed attention right away. Said you were the daughter o' some ranger from the North, and I say you look it." She paused and let her blue eyes scour Cristiel's face until she was satisfied. "Though I'd say you were of Gondor first, but what do I know? I've never been anywhere much but 'round Edoras and the Westfold, before the wild men started burning and killing . . ." She trailed off and finished adjusting the splint around Cristiel's ankle before giving it a gentle pat. "There you go, all new. Don't get up on it and try to walk just yet." She stood up and brushed her hands off on her apron. "You'll ruin me 'ard work, and you'll hurt yourself even more. We'll get you a crutch later so you can breathe some fresh air, but for now you stay in bed and I'll be just a shout away." And with that, Burwena scurried out of the room.

Cristiel stared at the empty doorway. Burwena was like a cold, energetic wind that had rushed out as quickly as she had come.

She wanted to know how long she had slept, and what the date was. She wanted to meet this Éomer, so she could at least thank him for bringing her to the Healing House. And she wanted to get outside as soon as possible. Being cooped up in this dark, cold room reminded her too much of the Mines of Moria.

* * *

She tossed and turned sleeplessly in her bed that night. A shadow crept over her, and in the dark corners of her mind, something waited patiently. She sat up and lay back down more than once, and several hours passed that would give her no peace. She did not know if it was because she was in a different place, or if it was her head injury, but something bothered her to no end.

_ Her mount was tense beneath her legs. She tightened her grip on the reins as he tossed his head nervously. Horses pressed in on them from all sides, their riders dressed in full battle gear, brandishing razor sharp spears and glimmering swords. A war raged on the plains before her, and sunlight streamed down upon it through a break in the black sky behind. A lone man and his horse galloped along the front lines of the riders, shouting a word that sent chills down her spine._

_ Death!_

_ Far in the distance, a white monolith, maybe once a city, was burning. Black hordes surrounded it and steadily engulfed it until it was like a charred pile of coal. Her heart clenched for some reason, though she knew not why._

_ Death!_

_ The riders around her shouted in return and the mass of horses began to surge ahead, towards the plains and the remains of the city. A black cloud descended, surrounding them in Shadow, and eating away at the hope in her heart._

_ Death!_

_ Somebody was calling her name. A man with blazing green eyes, running in the midst of the battlefield._

_ Death!_

_ Then the world melted away with a roar, candle wax swallowed by a fiery eye._

Cristiel jolted up in bed, her heart pounding against her ribcage, cold sweat dripping down her face. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and settled shakily back onto the bed. A pale sliver of light shone through the window onto the floor. Strangely, she felt wholly rested, despite the dream. A chill wriggled up her spine as she heard the word echo in her mind again.

_Death!_

She shivered and rubbed her forehead. The dream she'd had in Lothlórien had not made her feel as uneasy as she felt now. This one was worse. She raised her hands and watched as they shook ever so slightly. She shook her head. She was still in her bedroom in Edoras. Nothing of the dream was real.

She sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed, stretching her legs and arms out with a groan. Being bedridden for a whole day had not been the least pleasant on her body, regardless of the fact that she really couldn't walk anyway.

She glanced towards the door as it creaked open. A girl several years younger than herself entered the room and gave her a shy smile. In one hand, she carried a crutch with a cloth-banded crosspiece on top, while her other hand played nervously with a stray lock of blonde hair.

"Good morning, lady. Burwena said to give you this crutch to use today. She wants you to get washed up so you can feel fresher and stronger. She was sure you'd want to bathe something awful. It's not often that we get women in here, like you."

Cristiel felt the girl's light eyes trail over her face and hair, and she thought she saw one blonde eyebrow twitch. Her hair was probably a greasy sight to behold. Aragorn's face framed in filthy black locks flitted through her mind, and she almost smiled.

The girl handed her the crutch, and Cristiel positioned it under her right arm. She stood up carefully from the bed, leaning not too uncomfortably on the wooden support.

"Lady, if you would follow me—"

"Please, just Cristiel."

The girl seemed taken aback, then turned without another word and continued out the door. Cristiel assumed she should follow. It was awkward work, moving about on one crutch, but she moved quickly and soon got an even feel for it. They went down the length of the Healing House, passing several rooms that were occupied by severely wounded soldiers. On a bed in one larger room they passed, Cristiel saw a body completely covered in a thin linen sheet, its face hidden. She paused in the doorway.

"That's the king's son," the young healer said in a low voice. "He died not a few days ago. His funeral is planned for later today, but we best not linger here."

"How did he die?" Cristiel asked softly.

The girl drew closer to her, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Orcs of Saruman." She took Cristiel's free hand anxiously. "Come."

Cristiel glanced at the body again, feeling a knot form in her throat. Boromir had not been the only mighty warrior slain by the Uruk-Hai. The thought gave her a moment of solace, but it was quickly swept away as tears stung her eyes. She crutched away from the doorway after the girl.

They entered a warm, enclosed room without windows and only a small slotted vent in the ceiling that gave her a peek at the brightening sky. A smooth wooden tub was already filled with steaming water, and a small table sat nearby holding various soaps, liniments, and sponges.

"Hurry and get in before the water cools," the girl beckoned to her. "I've laid fresh clothing behind that screen in the corner."

Cristiel thanked the girl, who left promptly, shutting the door behind. Then she swiftly undressed and carefully stepped into the warm water. She sank in up to her chin and shut her eyes as the water rolled around her. She hadn't had a bath since leaving Lothlórien. That was over two weeks ago, if she was guessing right. She scrunched her nose in disgust at the thought. She grabbed a bar of soap from the table nearby and attacked the ground-in dirt on her body. She scrubbed fiercely at her hair and skin as best she could, watching with slight disgust as the water darkened from the scum and grime that came away. Satisfied and starting to shiver, she climbed slowly out of the water, gripping the side of the tub to keep from slipping onto her bad foot. She snagged the towel that lay nearby and rubbed it down her hair before wrapping herself in it, then looked up suddenly as the door opened and Burwena slipped inside.

"You'd think they'd try to make a bathing room a little more private for a lady," she muttered as she turned the heavy bolt. Then she put on a smile for Cristiel. "I'll 'elp you dress. Come behind this screen, dear, so you don't catch cold."

She did and after she was dried off fully, Burwena quickly helped her into the dress, pulling it over her arms and head and down her legs. Cristiel immediately felt warmer. The ties on the back were quickly done up and she then took the towel to her hair again. Its dark, natural wave fell over her shoulders, so she pulled two pieces back and tied them to keep it out of the way. She hated hair in her face.

She grabbed the crutch and came out from behind the screen to see Burwena walking out with her travel-worn clothing in her arms. At the surprised expression on Cristiel's face, the healer laughed. "Don't worry, dear. You'll get these back. You won't be wearin' 'em again 'til they're cleaned, and no exceptions."

Cristiel watched her disappear around the corner, then brushed her hands down the dark blue fabric of her dress. It was rougher than she was used to, nothing like the soft Elvish material she had worn all her life. But it was warm and clean, so it would do.

She crutched across the room and went through the door into the open hallway of the Healing House. A few moments later, Burwena appeared in front of her, almost as quickly as she had left. This time she held out an old piece of leather with laces that dangled over her arm.

"I found a nice leather brace that may 'elp you walk more easily," she said. "Come this way and we'll put it on ya."

They went back to Cristiel's bedroom, and Burwena ordered her to sit on the bed. The healer crouched down and pushed Cristiel's dress up her leg, and she held it out of the way for the old woman while she placed the leather pieces around the wraps on her injured ankle. Burwena pulled the laces tightly through their respective eyelets, so tight that Cristiel inhaled sharply.

"Don't worry, miss. The tighter it holds, the better you'll 'eal."

Burwena then stood up with a small groan, went to the corner for Cristiel's boots, and handed them to her.

"Put these on over it, and don't take it off for a few weeks. Your injury will need time to make itself right. And don't you dare start runnin' around. Just because it's good n' tight doesn't mean your healed up, so do yourself a favor and don't 'urt yourself again."

The head healer turned on her heel and left the room to tend to the others in the house. Cristiel turned her attention to her ankle. The laces were done so tightly, she decided to test the brace. She stood slowly from the bed, leaning on the crutch to keep from hurting herself outright. Carefully, she shifted her weight more evenly between both feet and found that the brace offered enough support for her to stand on it. Biting her lip, she dropped the crutch so it leaned against the bedside and took a few test steps. There was no pain. In fact, she had almost lost feeling in her right ankle completely. Encouraged by this revelation, she made her way quietly out of her room and across the hall to the door that she assumed would lead her outside.

The rough wooden door groaned as she pushed it open. She squinted at the sudden onslaught of light and sucked in the cold, fresh air. A brisk wind danced around her as she stood on the threshold, taking in the city. It was the first time she had seen Edoras in broad daylight. The entire city occupied a single hill, rising above vast plains of green that stretched to the horizon and were cut off in the south only by soaring white mountains. The city itself was rustic. On the hillside below her, houses, stables, and shops with dark thatched roofs and weathered sides huddled against the wind. Their occupants wore mostly dark clothing, although it could have been that they didn't wash their clothing often. Edoras was not a bustling city, but people moved here and there, more often than not beside or mounted upon a horse.

She turned and looked up the road. It led to the crest of the hill where a majestic palace stood above everything, its walls decorated with carvings and filigrees of gold. The palace opened onto a wide stone terrace that overlooked all the city and the plains beyond, but despite the impressive nature of the city, it was cold and silent, save for the whistling wind.

The wind picked up and the sky began to grow overcast, causing the temperature to drop. Cristiel went back inside, but only to grab her elven cloak; she was sick of being stuck indoors for a day and a half. She wrapped it tightly around her as she stepped outside again. The leather brace Burwena had loaned her, combined with her leather boots, held her ankle firmly in place, and though she went slowly and with a limp, she could walk without too much pain. If Burwena caught her without her crutch, the old woman would surely have her head, so she left the vicinity of the Healing House to avoid repercussions.

The tangy scents of manure and hay blew towards her on the wind. She followed a foot path behind what she assumed was the royal stable until she found a door, and she quietly opened it and went inside. At least forty long faces turned toward her, with forty pairs of shining brown eyes gazing at her curiously and forty pairs of ears perked forward and alert. She chuckled at the attention these fine equines had suddenly vested on her, and suddenly wished her pockets were full of apples and carrots. She went up to the nearest stall, where a tall chestnut watched her with young eyes. She held her palm open and let the stallion graze his velvety lips over her skin. He lipped her fingers and gently nibbled for tidbits, then disappointed, he dropped his neck over the stall door and nudged Cristiel. She laughed quietly, reaching for something to hold onto so she wouldn't fall over. She ran a hand up and down the stallion's long face, her fingers tangling in his course forelock. She scratched between his ears, watching as they dropped to the side like a donkey's.

"You are a very forgiving one," she said, barely a whisper.

"You should see what he is like under saddle."

Cristiel jumped and turned at the new female voice.

"Forgive me for startling you. You must be Cristiel. Burwena told me about you and asked that I help make you feel comfortable here. I am Éowyn."

"Hello," Cristiel replied with a small smile, studying the woman. Éowyn was tall and slender, quite pale, and probably no more than a couple years older than herself. Her hair was golden, cascading down her back in long, wavy locks that shimmered in the wafts of light that came through the skylights in the stable ceiling. Her eyes were steel blue, and she was dressed in an elegant, white gown trimmed with elaborate gold embroidery. Cristiel self-consciously fingered the plain dark fabric of her own dress as she eyed Éowyn's.

"The man who brought you here is my brother, Éomer," Éowyn explained. "I would introduce you, but I am afraid he is being detained." Those last words were said with spite.

"Whatever for?" asked Cristiel. "He was very courteous to me, and isn't he one of Rohan's captains?"

"Third Marshal actually. My uncle, the king, has not been himself as of late, so I am afraid the blame can be placed completely on Grima," she spat.

Cristiel untangled her fingers from the stallion's forelock. "Who is Grima?"

A fire seemed to rise in Éowyn's blue eyes. "Grima Wormtongue is the king's sole advisor. He is a snake and," she leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, "I suspect a spy of Saruman's."

Cristiel raised her eyebrows. "Grima had your brother Éomer thrown into prison for what? Bringing me here?"

The other woman shook her head. "Grima does not know you are here, and he need not know. Hopefully your friends will be swift to return for you. As for Éomer, he rode out with many of the Rohirrim about five days ago, against the king's orders."

"To defend your country?"

"Yes, to defend Rohan," Éowyn replied, her voice shaking.

Cristiel wasn't sure what to say now. She had come to a country where the king's mind was poisoned by an associate of Saruman's, and where one of their top military leaders had been thrown into prison for defending his own country from the enemy. She sucked on her lower lip in silence as she mulled over these thoughts.

"Can you walk, Cristiel?" Éowyn said suddenly.

Cristiel glanced back at her. "I suppose, but not very well."

"Come with me. There is a place in the palace that is more private than this stable where we can talk without worrying about prying ears."

Cristiel nodded and followed Éowyn outside the stable and further up the hill. The palace loomed above them, more ominous looking against the white sky.

"This is the Golden Hall of Meduseld," said Éowyn.

They went up the steps, Cristiel very carefully and slowly, and passed through the great doors that opened on Éowyn's command of the guards. Éowyn took Cristiel's hand suddenly and pulled her into the shadows of the hall, out of sight of the throne where a decrepit old man sat hunched over, looking barely alive. A black haired man with pallid skin and dressed in a black robe knelt beside the throne whispering into the king's ear. Cristiel assumed that the man was Grima Wormtongue. She already didn't like the sight of him.

"Come!" Éowyn whispered, pulling her hand.

They went swiftly from the throne room and through a series of back hallways and corridors that Cristiel would never remember the way out of. Then they rounded a corner and entered a spacious bed chamber. Éowyn quietly shut the door and went over to recline on a bench that sat against the wall. Cristiel stood in the center of the room, eyeing the great fireplace, the white linens on the bed, the tapestries that graced the walls.

"These are my private quarters," said Éowyn. "We will not be overheard here nor shall we be disturbed."

"It is all lovely."

A small smile broke through Éowyn's hard demeanor. She leaned forward. "First of all, I must know where it is you come from. My first guess would be Gondor, but you carry yourself differently from all Gondorian women I have met."

Cristiel blinked at the woman's forthrightness and played with her fingers behind her back. There was no point in lying. "I traveled from Rivendell with nine companions," she said truthfully. "One was lost in the Mines of Moria. Another . . ." Her breath caught in her throat and she bit her lip. She could not bring herself to tell Éowyn about Boromir. She struggled with her composure, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. "The rest have since gone their own ways."

"Rivendell? I have heard strange rumors of the lands of the elves, but did not think I would meet one who had seen them. Yet you are no elf!"

"I was raised by them. First in Lothlórien, then in Imlad—in Rivendell. My mother was an elf and my father one of the Dúnedain."

"You lived in the Golden Wood? Éomer has told me that land is cursed!"

"It is not," Cristiel replied quietly.

There was a short silence. Cristiel shifted uncomfortably onto her right foot and quickly off of it again.

"Oh! Forgive me. Please, come sit. You should not be standing on an injured leg." Éowyn moved over and patted the empty part of the bench. Cristiel sunk onto the wood with a grateful sigh.

"I'm not used to being crippled like this."

"Of course not. No one is."

"No, I mean that—well, back home..." she felt a knot form in her throat as the word passed over her tongue. "Back home, I would run, and ride, and explore the forest. I wasn't like all of the other girls." She smiled as she remembered the glare Tawariel had sent her one afternoon in the woods, after she had made fun of the elleth's love for Lindir and mocked her distaste for the dirt in her fingernails. "Now I can barely walk." She raised a hand and combed her fingers through her hair.

"If you don't mind my asking, how _did_ you injure yourself?"

The curiosity in Éowyn's eyes was clearly evident to Cristiel's amusement. She suddenly wanted to tell Éowyn about everything. About the Fellowship, Frodo, the ring, Boromir, the Uruk-Hai. But she knew Aragorn would not take lightly her openness about such a serious matter, once he found out she had revealed all. So she kept her mouth shut and carefully chose her words.

"I was running from orcs on a very steep hillside in the wilderness, and I wasn't paying attention and jumped over a fallen tree. I must have landed wrong on some rocks, but I don't remember much after that because I also hit my head." She pushed back a black lock of hair and pointed to the long, scabbing gash on her forehead. It was the truth, mostly.

"Oh." Éowyn's blue eyes grew wide. "That must have been very painful."

Cristiel nodded.

"Burwena mentioned something about a sword. Do you fight?"

Cristiel stared at the floor. "Not as well as I thought I could when I left Rivendell."

Éowyn didn't say anything in reply, and after a minute, Cristiel looked up to see the woman's brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"What is it, my lady?"

Éowyn gave a small smile and took Cristiel's hand. "You must have been very brave to travel such great distances on foot, and in the company of so many men. I have dreamed of doing great deeds of valor, but I fear I will never be afforded such an opportunity."

Cristiel could see the fire in her eyes as she spoke, and thought to say something of the dangers of rash action, but was distracted by a commotion that came echoing up the hall. They both glanced towards the door. Then the sounds of a scuffle and flying punches brought both women to their feet.

"It's coming from the throne room," said Éowyn. She hurried towards the door and disappeared down the hallway in a flurry of white.

Taking up a handful of her dress, Cristiel went after her, limping as quickly as she could. The brace was making her ankle numb, but at the moment she didn't mind. She went down the corridor, following the noise coming from the Hall. Yes, it was definitely a violent scuffle. And there was a loud voice she thought she recognized, but she shrugged it away as impossible.

She rounded a corner and the voice suddenly grew louder, hitting her in the face. She crashed through a door and found herself standing at the front of the throne room. Aragorn held back a nervous Éowyn, and Cristiel felt Legolas move behind her. His hand closed firmly about her wrist, probably to keep her from doing anything foolish when she realized what exactly was happening. To her left was the king, writhing and groaning in his throne, but that was not what held her attention the closest. Standing in front of the throne was an old man with long, white hair, dressed in billowing white robes. He held out a lithe, white staff in both hands, and his blue eyes were blazing.

"Impossible!" Cristiel breathed.

The wizard's attention was set on the King. "I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound."

Gandalf thrust his staff towards the king, who was slammed back into his throne, gripping its arms and attempting to press against the wizard's power.

"If I go, Théoden dies," growled the king, or rather Saruman in the king's body. He was slammed against the back of the throne once more.

"You did not kill me. You will not kill him," Gandalf replied, his voice full of authority.

Théoden/Saruman snarled at the wizard. "Rohan is mine!"

"Begone!" Gandalf ordered, pressing forward.

Théoden shut his eyes, twisting in his seat as Saruman struggled to keep control of the king's body against Gandalf's spells. Suddenly, he leaped from his throne with a loud cry and Gandalf raised his staff against him with an equally fierce cry. Whatever power the wizard had used suddenly forced the king to collapse back into his seat, and the king now looked barely alive, as if he had looked at all alive before. He keeled over with a feeble groan and Éowyn rushed to his side. There was a tense silence in the hall as the king suddenly appeared to grow younger. His scraggly beard disappeared, the lines that permeated his face lessened, and his skin slowly regained a healthy glow. Finally, life returned to his eyes.

"I know your face . . . " he whispered, staring at Éowyn.

Éowyn's features rose and Cristiel saw her smile for the first time. The white lady grinned as subtle tears trickled down her cheeks. She cupped the king's face in her hands.

"Éowyn," Théoden repeated quietly, seeming to recognize her as if he had not seen his niece for many years.

Breathing slowly now, Gandalf removed himself from the steps of the throne, drawing Théoden's attention.

"Gandalf?"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," the wizard said with satisfaction.

Murmurs rose from the court that had gathered. Legolas loosened his grip on Cristiel's wrist and she watched in fascination as King Théoden rose carefully to his feet with Éowyn at his side to assist him. He straightened himself slowly and gazed out with worn eyes over those gathered in the hall.

"Dark have been my dreams of late," the king declared. He raised his hands and studied the worn callouses that littered his long lifeless palms.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," said Gandalf.

Théoden's eyes seemed to lighten at the words and he reached for where his sword should have been hanging on his left. But he grabbed at empty space.

"Where has Grima put it?" the king muttered.

Suddenly a clear voice called out from behind them. "Take this, my lord!"

Cristiel turned to see a tall, well-built man with blond hair come striding down the length of the Hall. He wore no armor or helm, but carried a long sword flat in his hands. The crowd parted as he approached and he knelt before the king, holding the sword hilt aloft.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Théoden suddenly.

One of the court members stepped forward. "My lord, it is I who you may blame. Perhaps I acted too soon, but I was filled with such joy seeing you return to us that I thought nothing of it. I released Éomer from his chains and brought his blade as he requested."

"To lay at your feet, my lord," Éomer said.

The king stood where he was, not moving, just staring down at the kneeling man whom Cristiel realized with a little embarrassment was the same man that brought her to Edoras.

"Will you not take the sword?" Gandalf pressed.

Théoden hesitated, then he reached forward and took the hilt firmly in his right arm. What was once a thin and weak arm seemed to regain strength in front of their eyes, and Théoden thrust the sword into the air, giving a jubilant cry:

"Arise! Arise now, Riders of Rohan!"

The soldiers watching from the sides of the Hall sprang to their feet, brandishing their swords as if they had been called to war.

"Take back your sword, Éomer!" Théoden said. "Háma, you must find my own sword. And bring Grima to me when you do."

The court member that had released Éomer stepped forward, bowed, and left the Hall. The king turned to Gandalf.

"If you have counsel for me, Gandalf, I will hear it now."

"You have already taken good counsel. Éomer is loyal to you and to Rohan. As you should know by now, Grima Wormtongue is nothing but a man of crooked mind and a spy of Saruman."

Cristiel turned from the conversation as it moved to political matters, and smiled expectantly at Legolas. "It's good to see you again," she said quietly.

"Indeed, it has been two whole days that you were not falling far behind us, nor complaining as badly as Gimli."

It took a second for the elf's teasing reply to sink in, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "I was being genuine."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky smile. "So was I."

She almost huffed but instead changed the subject. "Did you find the hobbits?"

Legolas nodded. "They are safe."

"But they are not here," Cristiel said, glancing around to make sure she was right.

"Perhaps it is not as safe here as you thought."

She opened her mouth to reply, but was distracted when a group of men entered the Hall. Following Háma, two soldiers held tightly the arms of a grumbling, greasy-haired man with frighteningly pale skin. They dragged him before the king and forced him to kneel as Háma knelt before Théoden, holding out a long blade whose scabbard was gilded with gold and set with green gems.

"My lord, here is your sword. Grima had it in his keeping along with many items which my men have sorely missed."

The king took his blade and unsheathed it, holding it out in the air, testing the weight. Then his eyes veered towards Grima, whose face drooped in horror.

"Take this worm out of here!" Théoden commanded, and his men did as they were told. The whole court rushed outside behind the King out of curiosity as to what might happen next, and whether the king would be merciful or deal justice.

Cristiel followed slowly behind, making it out the great doors of the hall. The commotion had spread down the stairs of Meduseld and into the palace courtyard. She limped up next to Legolas, leaning on his arm for support as her ankle was beginning to throb again. From there, she could see the entire city of Edoras and what was happening below between Grima and Théoden.

The shriveled former-advisor rolled in pain on the hard stony ground. "I've only ever served you, my lord!" he cried, blood dripping from his nose.

Théoden made his way carefully down the stairs, gripping his sword and leering over Grima. "Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" he replied angrily.

"Send me not from your side!"

Théoden raised his blade, ready to strike off Grima's head.

"No, my lord!"

Cristiel inhaled sharply as Aragorn raced down the steps to the king, where he caught Théoden's sword in the air, holding him back from the kill.

"No, my lord. Let him go."

He whispered more words that Cristiel couldn't hear, and Théoden lowered his sword.

"What does he think he is doing?" she muttered to Legolas. She watched in astonishment as her father offered Grima a hand.

Grima eyed Aragorn carefully, as though considering the offer of possible redemption. He then spat on the offered hand, scrambled to his feet, and pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered around them. Free of his duties, he lunged down the road and disappeared into the shadow of the royal stables. All attention was now shifted to King Théoden.

"Hail Théoden King!" cried Háma suddenly, his voice exuberant.

The gathered crowd shouted in return and bowed respectfully. Rohan's true ruler had returned.

* * *

More than once that morning, Cristiel had counted the days on her fingers since Boromir's passing. Six. Not even a week. The void in her chest often felt like it was filled with cold lead, but the sting still did not match the combined physical pain of the injuries in her ankle, arm, and forehead. And since King Théoden had just been made aware that his only son was dead, the funeral preparations being made for the deceased were to Cristiel, secretly, in honor of Boromir, though she knew she would never see his face again. He had gone over the Falls of Rauros and most likely his boat had shattered on the rocks at the bottom of the river.

As she sat listlessly on a bench in the Hall of Meduseld, watching members of the court scurry to and fro in their haste to carry out the king's orders, she wondered if she would even be able to cry for him. She looked at her hand as it lay on the raised table. How numb she felt, and distant.

The weight of another body made the bench she sat on shift. She glanced over to see Aragorn with a concerned look on his face.

"Did Éomer obey my strict orders that you be well taken care of?"

She let a faint smile grace her lips but still stared at the tabletop. "Yes."

"Why do you not look at me?" Aragorn put a hand on her cheek and gently turned her head.

She didn't answer his question. She studied the lines in his forehead, the creases around his steely eyes. He looked worn from his days of constant running. But it didn't seem limited to physical weariness.

"Boromir did not die in vain," he said. "He fought for the hobbits until his final breath."

She met his gaze. "I know. And now he's gone." She almost couldn't believe how wooden she sounded.

Aragorn removed his hand from her cheek and placed it on the hand that rested on the table. His calloused thumb drew circles on the back of her palm, and she instantly felt a calm wash over her.

"Do you remember when Gilraen passed away?"

"I—" She paused to consider. "I never really knew your mother. I remember you crying. You held onto my hand so tightly that it hurt. I was twelve." She noticed a sad light flicker briefly in his eyes when she spoke.

"I think Boromir would have you grieve for him and not dwell on his passing," he said firmly.

She straightened, breaking eye contact. "It's hardly been a week!"

"And have you cried?"

She felt tears sting her eyes and she blinked them away. "No," she whispered. She looked at her hand again, watching as he continued to caress it softly. Boromir gripping her hand suddenly flitted through her mind and her eyes welled. She remembered how he had kissed her that night, by the river, under the stars. A tiny sob escaped her throat and she looked back at Aragorn.

"Don't ever leave me again, ada," she said with a shaky voice.

He searched her face for something, anything. But instead of providing an answer, it contorted with sorrow. What had begun as a trickle from her dark eyes turned into a stream, and he reached for her.

From the opposite end of the Hall, Éowyn watched as a sobbing Cristiel was embraced by a ruggedly handsome man, in a tender display of what she could only regard as brotherly affection.


	12. Exodus

_Author's Note:_ Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. I see that the last time I updated was July 6, 2010. It is now September 22, 2010. That's an over-two month-break. So sorry about that. Then I realized how much stuff I did between then and now, and I didn't feel so bad.

However, I struggled with this chapter and I still think it sucks, but I know if I'd given up then I'd never finish this story. Also, reviews are most welcome. It's always good to know that people are reading this. You don't have to leave a long review. Even a "Yay! Next chapter soon plz!" is awesome. I love critical feedback though. It makes me feel not so wimpy. Hah! Erm, ok enough blabbing.

I guess I don't own the Lord of the Rings or anything by Tolkien. Only Cristiel and Raud belong to me. Translations for the various bits of Rohirric are at the bottom.

* * *

**Chapter XII: Exodus**

The people of Edoras were dressed in black to mourn their fallen prince, lining the road through the city gates and down the slopes of the hill. Inside the Hall of Meduseld, Théodred lay on a stretcher, his cold body draped in rich cloth and furs. His hands were placed across his chest and his sword and scabbard lay at his side. Standing among the court between Gimli and Aragorn, Cristiel stared at the prince's body, noticing how blue his lips were and how cold his skin looked. The young girl at the healing house had said he'd been dead for several days. The flowers and furs placed around the prince's body must have been hiding the smell, but the sight still made Cristiel wince. It was too akin to what she had glimpsed in the elven boat the day the Fellowship was broken. The ashen skin, the crossed arms, the hair draped around his head; for a moment she thought she would be sick.

Éomer and King Théoden entered the Hall and ordered the body to be taken up. Four soldiers lifted Théodred's body and went solemnly out the doors of the hall. The King and his nephew went behind them, and Gandalf after. This seemed to be the cue and the rest of the court followed them. Cristiel bit her lip when Aragorn placed a hand on her arm.

"We must pay our respects," he said quietly.

She looked from him to the open doors of the hall. Gimli and Legolas went grimly after the procession, leaving her with no choice. She wrapped her hand around Aragorn's arm and they went out into the daylight. She blinked a few times to adjust to the light. It was still overcast but the clear March air was crisp and cool, swirling around them in a brisk wind.

The procession went silently down the road. In the crowd that watched on both sides, mothers wept, clutching at the hands of their children. Old women wailed with sorrow and men stood like cold, stone statues.

"Rohan must have loved their prince dearly," Cristiel whispered.

"Théodred was the king's only heir," Aragorn replied. "Now for many, all hope is lost."

They went out of the city and came to a wide hollow in the hillside. Mounds of earth dotted the land, each one covered in a blanket of white blossoms. They halted in front of one of the mounds where the open door of a recently fashioned stone tomb awaited the dead prince. Then a haunting voice soared into the air and Cristiel looked to see Éowyn gripping the silken fabric of the cloak over her head. Tears streamed from her shimmering blue eyes as she sang:

"_Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended_

_giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende _

_on Meduselde þæt he ma no wære__,_

_his dryhtne dyrest and mæga deorost. _

_Bealo...__"_

Though Cristiel didn't know the meaning of Éowyn's song, the emotion in her voice was enough to make tears sting her own eyes. The song was a cry from Éowyn's heart for a lost cousin, a sorrow that Cristiel echoed in her own heart for a lost love. The weight of grief lifted a little, and though she knew she would always miss Boromir terribly, she knew she must try to mourn for him the best way she knew how.

Later, after the tomb was slammed shut and the crowd had dispersed, Cristiel stood alone, feeling a different pain in her heart that she'd never felt before. How she wanted him back! She could have died right then just to see his green eyes flash in the sunlight or to have his fingers entwine with her own. The thoughts wet her cheeks with fresh tears. This, she realized, was how she should mourn Boromir. Not by pressing her grief down and keeping it hidden from all including herself.

A dull pain shot up her right leg and she shifted her weight onto her good foot. Her thoughts momentarily distracted, she suddenly noticed how delicate the little white blossoms were that grew in clumps over grave after grave. She bent to pick one and twisted it between her thumb and index finger.

"Simbelmynë."

Cristiel glanced up, surprised that she was not alone. King Théoden stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back and his blue eyes grave.

"Ever has it grown on the tombs of my forebears."

She watched as he knelt and plucked one of the blooms from the ground, then let it fall from his fingers. It twirled round and round until it landed upon Théodred's grave.

"Now it shall cover the grave of my son."

She settled her gaze on the flower in her fingers. "I am very sorry for your loss, my lord," she said softly. "I have also lost one whom I loved . . . Boromir of Gondor." His name tasted bitter on her tongue and she swallowed back the knot in her throat.

"Alas for Boromir the brave! He was friend to Rohan," replied Théoden.

Cristiel turned to look at him. She could see he was struggling as much as she was.

"Alas that these evil days should be mine," he said. "The young perish and the old linger. That I should live to see the last days of my house . . ."

"Théodred's death was not of your making," said Gandalf behind her.

Théoden's eyes flashed at Gandalf, but the lines under his eyes grew more pronounced. "No parent should have to bury their child," the king replied

"He was strong in life," said Gandalf. "His spirit will find its way to the halls of your fathers."

Théoden fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

_"__Westu hál,"_ said Gandalf quietly. _"Ferðu, Théodred, ferðu__."_

A sudden gust of wind stole the Simbelmynë blossom out of Cristiel's hand. It tumbled and spun through the air, until it disappeared as a tiny speck over the distant hills. She pushed a black lock of hair out of her eyes and spotted something moving on the hilltop, silhouetted against the white sky: a horse bearing two children, a girl and a boy.

"Gandalf!" She turned in the wizard's direction, but he was already making his way up the hill. Casting one last glance at Théodred's burial mound, she limped up the hill behind Gandalf. As the cool wind whistled around her, the tears of grief on her cheeks became dry streaks of lonely heartache.

* * *

They brought the children straight into Meduseld, leaving their big-boned horse to rest in the stables. Gandalf carried the boy, who had passed out from sheer exhaustion and fallen. The girl, presumably his sister, clung to Cristiel's hand like a terrified filly. All heads turned as they entered the hall, and the girl whimpered.

"What is the meaning of this?" said Théoden, coming behind them through the doors.

Gandalf gently laid his young burden on a long bench and covered the boy's forehead with his palm, pressing his fingers to the boy's temple. All present watched as the wizard muttered in a strange tongue, until the boy's eyes flew open. He tried to sit up.

"Oh, Éothain!"

The girl dropped Cristiel's hand and flung herself at her brother. The two embraced and for a moment all seemed to be well. King Théoden approached the children and they gazed at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"You need not fear me. I am your king," he said. "What are your names?"

The girl looked at her brother.

"I—I'm Éothain, your highness, and this is my sister, Freda."

"And from where do you hail?"

"The Westfold, your highness."

"Where is mama?" cried Freda.

Éowyn suddenly pushed in front of everyone and took the children's hands. "Come with me."

Cristiel watched as they obediently followed Éowyn across the hall, where she had them sit at a table. Éowyn wrapped blankets around their shoulders and moments later bowls of hot stew were placed in front of them. She sat with them and spoke soft words that Cristiel couldn't discern. Théoden seemed pleased with his niece and returned to his throne at the head of the hall. Gandalf joined him, sitting in Grima's former seat.

Aragorn had made himself comfortable with a pipe in his hands, and Legolas and Gimli stood nearby, chatting quietly. Cristiel's gaze settled on Éomer suddenly, and she realized he was looking right back. Uncomfortable under his keen gaze, she went over to sit with Freda and Éothain, desperately needing to get off of her injury. Freda looked up briefly and gave her a shy smile, her cheeks full with broth.

"Mama put us on our father's horse, Garulf, and sent us away," Éothain was saying with tears in his eyes. "She said we must come to Edoras and warn everyone."

Éowyn's features tightened and she rose to address her uncle. "Their village was attacked. They had no warning and they were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go." She knelt to adjust the blanket around Freda. "Rick, cot, and tree."

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron," said Gandalf. He placed a hand on the arm of the throne and Théoden looked at him with suspicion. "Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight."

Théoden stood from his seat and went a few paces across the floor, his hands clenched behind his back. "I know what it is you want from me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not."

The Hall grew silent. Along with everyone else, Cristiel turned to stare at her father, her expression not masking her surprise. He had become strangely forthright and blunt ever since he'd returned with Gandalf the White. She wondered if the new Gandalf had anything to do with it.

King Théoden sent Aragorn a scathing look. "When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan."

Aragorn shifted in his seat, but returned Théoden's gaze.

"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf pressed.

Théoden's eyes rested on the children eating hungrily next to Cristiel and Éowyn.

"The city must empty. We will make for the refuge of Helm's Deep."

* * *

"Cristiel, take the children to their horse. I will meet you in the stable in a moment."

Éowyn rushed away through the hall, leaving Éothain and Freda to stare up at Cristiel. She glanced around the hall, seeing that everyone had suddenly jumped to work. Then she looked down at the children and gave them a small smile.

"Come on, let's go ready Garulf."

They took her extended hands and they went out of the hall. In the city below them, the people milled about, flocking onto the road with their horses and belongings. The stables were just as crowded. Cristiel pushed Éothain ahead of her and led Freda behind, gripping the girl's small hand tightly. Soldiers ran back and forth down the aisle, leading mounts if their arms weren't filled with gear. A commotion was coming from the end of the row of stalls: a dark brown stallion reared up, striking out at the men who barely held him at bay with ropes. Cristiel had never seen a horse behave so badly and avoided the scene, pulling the children around a corner and down another length of stalls.

Garulf stood placidly in the hay with one rear hoof cocked on its end, but when the children came into view his ears perked up and he gave a friendly snort. Cristiel opened the stall door to let them inside and they worked together to quickly brush him down. He was a tall, burly stallion, almost eighteen hands high. She had to stand on her tiptoes in order to see over his withers. His mane and tail were course and tangled and his coat of shedding black hair was flecked with gray. He was a gentle giant and she marveled at how he treated the children. Éothain offered Garulf a fistful of grain which the stallion inhaled greedily, dripping a trail of slobber down the boy's arm. Cristiel let an amused smile creep onto her face when Garulf nudged Éothain, as if he was asking for more. Shaking her head, she laid his saddle cloth over his back and placed the saddle on top, then buckled the girth and breaststrap. She grabbed a bridle off the wall and reached for Garulf's mouth.

"Ugh, Éothain, you've soiled his mouth," she said, trying to hide her smile now.

The boy half-shrugged and Freda made a disgusted face. Garulf's mouth was covered in mashed grains and saliva. Cristiel wasn't going to put a bit into that.

"I'll be right back," she said, and left the children with their horse. She went down the length of the stable, dodging people and horses. She remembered seeing a room full of gear for the care of equines somewhere nearby earlier that morning.

Suddenly a set of bared horse teeth lunged at her and she flattened herself against the opposite row of stalls. It was the mad stallion she'd seen before, the one acting extraordinarily nasty. She gawked at the stallion for a second as two stablehands continued their failing attempts to restrain him. The horse eyed her and lunged at her again. She stumbled out of the way and without thinking planted her body weight onto her right foot in order to make a quick escape. Sharp pain burst through her ankle and she caught the top of a stall door before keeling over with a groan.

Instantly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist and she looked up to see it was her father. He helped her stand without a word, his brow knit and his jaw clenched, then turned his attention to the stallion.

"That horse is half mad, my lord," said one of the soldiers nearby. "There's nothing you can do. Leave him."

Aragorn paid the man no mind, reaching for the stallion slowly and uttering quiet words in Sindarin. Cristiel's small smile returned as she realized he was about to calm the horse with what some might call "magic." She turned to continue down the aisle and bumped suddenly into the broad shoulder of a soldier.

"Sorry," she said, but when she looked up her face grew hot. "My lord, forgive me. I wasn't watching—"

"No matter," Éomer replied. His gaze shifted to Aragorn and the stallion. "He has a way with horses."

Cristiel glanced back at her father. "He always has. We both grew up among the Elves, but I suppose he paid more attention in his lessons than I ever did."

"What kept you from them?"

She bit her bottom lip as she thought of an answer to a question she'd heard more than once before, watching as her father caressed the long, dark neck of the now placid stallion.

"I was too busy daydreaming, or making good on those daydreams," she answered. "The only things I ever put my heart into when I was a child were horseback riding and trying to do all the things I shouldn't have been doing. I was my mother's little boy." The corner of her mouth lifted as she reminisced for a moment.

"If I may be so bold, miss, despite your battle wounds you are quite the lady in my eyes."

Cristiel's gaze drifted back to Éomer. "My lord?"

"I found it strange that you had been traveling alone with three men. A Man, an elf, and a dwarf rather. Pray, if you do not find my comments disconcerting, I would know your age."

Cristiel withheld a flustered sigh and walked in the direction of Garulf and the children. "I am twenty-three. And those three you mentioned are perhaps the closest thing I have to family now. One _is_ family."

Éomer strode beside her down the stable aisle. "Indeed. I assumed Aragorn to be a relative."

Cristiel glanced backwards to see that Éowyn had found her father, and the two were conversing quietly. She pulled her gaze away and focused on the large, black horse head that now jutted over the closest stall door.

"He is a _very_ close relative, my lord," she replied. She did not want to reveal more than she had already. She didn't know if there were any in Rohan who could be trusted, despite the removal of Saruman's spy, Grima.

Éomer did not question her further, detecting a drop of unintended venom in her voice, but he bid her good day. Cristiel watched him stride away, left with a curious sense and at the same time the greatest annoyance she'd felt in a long while. Boromir's grinning face flitted into her mind and she blinked the image away.

Not caring anymore about Garulf's soiled mouth, she finished tacking him up, then helped Freda and Éothain onto Garulf's back and led the stallion out of the barn. As they came into the light, they saw masses of people below making their way out of the city with their animals and carts of belongings.

"You will not walk all the way to Helm's Deep with your injury," said Aragorn behind her.

Cristiel turned around and shrugged, playing with Garulf's reins in her fingers. "I have no horse."

"Éomer will give you one. I have already requested it," he replied.

Cristiel stared at her father, then glanced at the barn behind him. She lifted the reins over Garulf's head and gave the reins to Éothain, watching as the big horse ambled past her down the road to join the teeming mass of Edoras' residents.

"I would never leave you to suffer this journey on foot, Cristiel," Aragorn said as he mounted. "Éomer will find a worthy mount for you."

She did as her father requested. The barn was mostly empty now and her uneven footsteps echoed down the aisle.

"My Lord Éomer?" she called. A lonely horse whinnied from the other end of the barn. Boot steps came from around the corner and she straightened herself.

"Cristiel," he nodded when he saw her. "Aragorn asked me to provide you with a horse."

"Yes. But if there are no more, 'tis no matter—"

"I have one," he interrupted. "He is young and fiery in spirit, but if you can manage him, then you can keep him."

Cristiel tried hard to hide her grin as she followed him down the stable aisle. "I like a good challenge," she replied.

They came to the horse's stall and a solid bright chestnut head came out, his ears perked and dark eyes curious. He whickered softly as Cristiel rubbed his nose.

"This is Raud. He was gelded and given to Éowyn when he was born, four years ago. But she did not appreciate his spirit, and refuses to ride him."

Cristiel took the bridle offered her and gently slipped the bit into Raud's salivating mouth. "Éowyn refuses to ride him? Whatever happened?"

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "She does not speak of it. If I were you, I would keep a steady grasp on his reins at all times. Don't let him get any ideas."

With Raud tacked up, Éomer helped Cristiel mount, the latter biting her lip to keep from hissing in pain when her foot twisted into the stirrup. She still wore the brace that Burwena had given her, but that couldn't disguise the fact that her ankle was badly injured.

A stablehand ran in with her requested personal belongings, though meager, and they were tied to her saddle. She gave Raud a gentle nudge and with a toss of his head, he pranced brazenly into the sunlight of the courtyard. Cristiel liked him already.

* * *

They traveled for the rest of the day over hilly terrain, overshadowed by jagged, snowy mountains to their south. When the sun began to sink towards the western horizon, King Théoden ordered that they stop and rest for the night. Grateful for the opportunity, Cristiel dismounted slowly and lashed Raud's lead around a boulder. The gelding dropped his head to nibble on grass, his ears flicking back and forth as he took in the sounds of people, children, and horses. She removed his saddle, placed it on the ground, and straightened to look around. She had not seen Gandalf since Théodred's funeral. She'd wanted to tell him how she'd missed him, or even give him a hug. Confused, she walked a short distance to where Legolas was relaxing on the ground against a rock, his bow in his hands.

_"Good evening, Estelwen,"_ he said in Sindarin.

Cristiel smiled. "Legolas, where is Gandalf?"

"Mithrandir rode out to find Erkenbrand, one of the Rohirric Marshals who leads a great host." Legolas adjusted his bow string thoughtfully. "The Men of Rohan say the White Rider goes and comes unlooked for, ever in haste and always in need." The elf looked up at her again, his eyes brightening. "He will return."

"I would have liked to at least said 'Hello,'" she said wistfully.

Legolas was about to reply when Gimli interrupted. "Rohirric food does no good for my stomach," he grumbled and glanced behind him. "I hope your father is as discerning in taste as he is in tracking."

Cristiel looked where the dwarf nodded and saw, to her chagrin, Éowyn offering Aragorn a bowl of steaming stew, making cordial motions with her hands when he accepted it.

"She's been very friendly with him ever since they met," Legolas observed. Cristiel glanced at him, wondering, then turned her gaze back to Éowyn.

"Why? Why would he—"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Estelwen," said Legolas. "He is merely being respectful, as all men should." The elf narrowed his eyes at Gimli.

Cristiel crossed her arms and gazed straight at the elf. "I cannot help but see her approach him as she does. In the stable, when I saw her talking to him, her eyes went as soft as a filly's. I don't like it."

"Don't expect us to do anything about it," said Gimli.

She shook her head. "I'm not." Her eyes wandered across the landscape, from person to person, until they landed on Éomer. If anyone could make Éowyn understand, surely he could.

Without another word to her companions, she went towards the Marshal, who was conversing among his fellow Riders. As she drew near, their talk ceased and Éomer turned, his blue eyes settling on her curiously. She self-consciously drew her hands up in front of her, playing with her fingers.

"My Lord Éomer, I wish to speak with you. Privately," she added when a few of his men grinned.

Éomer received slaps on the back, which he ignored, and removed himself from his Riders' company.

"Have you come to complain about your unruly mount?" he offered, a smile tugging at his lips.

Cristiel smiled. "On the contrary, thank you. He is a joy to ride but I did not encroach on your friendly conversations just to praise your horses."

He nodded, listening intently.

She swallowed and glanced across the field to where Aragorn was still talking to Éowyn. "It's about your sister," she said, lowering her voice. "I think she may have feelings for him that... are not appropriate." She chose her words carefully, the half-lie stinging. Why hadn't she called him her father?

_...you are an heir of Isildur,_ said a memory of Boromir. _This puts your life in grave danger..._

She was startled out of her thoughts when Éomer put a hand on her shoulder. "Éowyn is lonely. She has lost her parents, and now her only cousin. Her fascination with Aragorn will wear off with time." His gaze was so genuine that she actually felt reassured. "There's no need to worry. I'm sure he will still pay you plenty of brotherly regard."

His grip on her shoulder tightened briefly, then he returned to his men. Cristiel stared after him, mumbling the words she would later regret not having said aloud.

"He's not my brother."

* * *

Night came and went. Clouds of spring mist crept over the hillsides, lifting only as rays of warm morning sunlight pierced their cold shells. Cristiel woke sore but refreshed. Recalling her times spent with the Fellowship, she considered one more night of sleeping on the ground no problem, especially considering she had a saddle on which to rest her head. She stood and stretched, noticing that Legolas was standing by Raud, stroking the gelding's neck gently and whispering soft words in Sindarin.

"This is a fiery one, Estelwen," he said as she approached. He smiled as the gelding snorted and lipped at his fingers. "Why would they give an injured maiden such a disobedient mount?"

Cristiel laughed softly. "Raud is young, but in the eyes of the Rohirrim he is most trustworthy." She reached up to scratch across his bridle path. "However, if you must compare him to a horse trained by the Eldar, he is a horrible thing to ride." She tried to stifle the smirk that crept onto her face, but to her amazement Legolas nodded in understanding.

"I asked him, respectfully of course, to be careful with you seeing that you're injured," he said. "He understood and promised to treat you well."

A huge grin burst onto her face and she bit her bottom lip to withhold the wave of laughter that threatened to overtake her. She knew her eyes were shining.

Legolas handed her Raud's reins. "Can you mount on your own?"

"Of course!"

He raised his eyebrows and turned away. Cristiel lifted her left leg towards the stirrup, a sudden pain shooting through her ankle. She groaned.

"Legolas?"

The elf turned on his heel, a perfect smile plainly on display, and lifted her up into the saddle.

"I feel so useless," she said, taking up Raud's reins.

Legolas put a steady hand on her arm. "All that matters now is that you are here, and alive and well. Don't become stuck in so much self-pity that you won't be able to make yourself useful when the time comes." He removed his hand slowly and gave Raud a final pat. "I know you are strong, Estelwen. Just like your father."

"Speaking of him—"

"Aragorn is with the king."

"Of course, and Éomer," she added with annoyance.

When Legolas didn't respond, she looked at him and was shocked by his expression. "I have no feelings for him," she hissed. "And don't try to make me wonder if he has any for me. It's the last thing I'd want."

"I'm an elf, Estelwen," he whispered back. "I was born to be aware of things such as these."

She glared at him and kicked Raud so that he sprang away from Legolas. The elf crossed his arms and didn't even bother to restrain his smirk.

* * *

When the morning had grown ripe, the Rohirrim continued on their exodus by the king's orders. Cristiel circled Raud around from the back of the throng, where Freda and Éothain rode content on Garulf, led by a friendly soldier. She cantered her gelding up the line of people and spotted her father walking side by side with Éowyn. Seeing them deep in conversation she bit her lip to keep from calling out to him, knowing she would sound bitter, and reined Raud a distance behind them into the mass of people and horses.

"I hear you traveled great distances and fought bravely against the hordes of the Enemy before you arrived in Rohan."

She glanced to her left and was greeted with a pair of blue eyes belonging to Éomer. She checked herself before she retorted too stupidly. "Where did you hear that?" she said slowly.

"Aragorn told me yesterday. He told me everything actually. I am truly sorry for your loss."

Cristiel broke eye contact with him, the sting of Boromir's death like a mad bee, following her no matter what she did or who she talked to.

"If there is anything I can do—"

"No," she said quickly, then feigned a smile. "No, there is nothing you could do, my lord." She looked away again and blinked back tears. "It's been a week. Only a week," she whispered. "But it feels so much further away, like in a dream."

"I lost both of my parents when I was a child."

"Then would you understand?" she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Would you understand this feeling of loss? If there is something you feel you must do for me, then understand and lend me a little space. I loved once. I will not love again."

She wasn't surprised when Éomer didn't respond. The words surprised even herself. Was she so bitter that she would put this upon herself in order to compensate for what she did to Boromir? What she wished she had done for him instead?

A blood curdling scream up ahead tore her from her thoughts. Shouts rose up among the head riders and Éomer spurred his stallion ahead. Aragorn was already running up the distant hillside, where Legolas had just slaughtered a large, unidentified beast.

"It's a scout!"

Aragorn turned and charged down the hill towards them. "Wargs! We're under attack!"

"Wargs?" a woman nearby shrieked. The people around her began to panic, babies and children crying, horses snorting and tossing their heads frantically. Cristiel dismounted Raud and ran to her father.

"Aragorn!" she called out and he grasped her arms firmly as they met. "Ada, I've not been able to speak with you and I refuse to leave your side again. You have to let me fight."

"No! Are you mad?" He searched her face, seeing she felt suddenly alone. "You must go to Helm's Deep with Éowyn. Take the children."

She glanced at Freda and Éothain, whose faces were stark white against Garulf's black coat. "Ada, please. Elrond said—"

Aragorn mounted the horse that Éowyn returned to him. "Elrond is not here. Please do as I say, Cristiel. We will return."

He galloped away with the rest of the riders. Cristiel turned immediately in search of her horse. Raud cantered towards her and halted nervously, and she mounted without the slightest pain and urged him onward. She called to Éothain, who steered Garulf behind her, holding a crying Freda with his other arm.

"Make for the lower ground! Stay together!" Éowyn was shouting. _So Théoden had left her in charge. She'd also not been allowed to fight,_ thought Cristiel. The idea consoled her for a moment.

Raud spooked and lurched around, his front legs flailing in the air. Cristiel leaned forward to calm him and her eyes landed on Aragorn. His horse had spun and lashed out at another horse, and as Aragorn pulled him back under control, their eyes met. Time slowed and an understanding seemed to pass between them. His gaze was sharp, compassionate, fatherly, and Cristiel felt suddenly that he would return.

Then his horse turned away and she lost him in the crowd.

* * *

They arrived at Helm's Deep barely an hour later. Éowyn led the people up the long, stone ramp and through the massive gates, while the soldiers at their posts bowed and paid their respects. The people scattered throughout the fortress, grateful to be safe and secure. Cristiel slipped off of Raud's back and planted her feet carefully to the floor. Solid rock was the last place she'd want to step wrong. She gazed in awe at the fortress, with its thick parapets and soaring tower. A wall jutted out from one side of the Keep and stretched to the other side of the small valley, leaving the land behind it barren with only a mountain stream. It flowed down and through a culvert in the wall where it was set free to join the River Isen somewhere far in the distance. This place, Cristiel realized, was where King Théoden planned for his people to ride out the coming tide of war. A sudden sick feeling came to her gut, but she knew not why.

"Cristiel, we found our momma!"

Freda bounded up to her and grabbed her hand. Éothain was close behind. "You must come meet her, Cristiel!"

"Alright, I will," she said with a smile. She went after the boy, with Freda tugging on her the entire way. She wondered if this was what it was like to have children.

"Momma, this is Cristiel. She helped us in Edoras."

The older woman's dull eyes brightened when she saw her being dragged by the children. "Thank you, my lady. Freda and Éothain have told me nothing but wonderful things about you. I owe you everything." She took Cristiel's hand in her own, smile lines forming on her weathered face.

"M'am that's really not necessary. I am no lady. I just wanted to help."

"Well, I dare say, you will make a fine wife one day for your husband."

Cristiel inhaled sharply and feigned a smile for the second time that day. She slipped her hand out of the older woman's grasp, and without glancing at the children, hurried away to the stable.

Raud was patiently waiting for her in a stall, left by a stable boy who hadn't untacked him properly. The gelding was chewing on his bit, his bridle hanging over his chestnut nose. Cristiel shook her head and gently pried the metal from out between his teeth, wiping his saliva on her tunic. When she reached up to put a leather halter around his nose, he tossed his head and snorted. The halter flew into the adjacent stall and Raud nudged her shoulder innocently. Cristiel glared at him. With a firm grip on his mane, she dragged him behind her and he followed obediently as she retrieved the halter.

" Legolas was right. You are ridiculous," she muttered.

Raud snuffled her hair and let her put the halter on this time. She led him back to his stall, noticing his saddle that straddled the opposite stall door. There were sweat stains beginning to congeal around the edges. She pulled a cloth out of a nearby bucket and began to scrub. It was lonely work, but she found that it offered her mind an opportunity to wander while her hands did all the labor. An hour passed and in that time she saw that she had scrubbed the leather so hard that it had turned into a dull mirror.

A crier's voice outside made her jump. She dropped what she was doing and rushed to the courtyard of the Hornburg. There was a flurry of horses and soldiers, but less than Cristiel had anticipated. She stood on her toes to see if she could spot Aragorn. There were so few men left, and their faces were filled with fatigue and fear. Éowyn brushed past her to the King's side as he dismounted.

"So few," she said breathlessly. "So few of you have returned."

"Our people are safe," he replied, grunting as he assisted a wounded soldier down from his horse. "We have paid for it with many lives." He caught Cristiel's gaze and held it briefly, then turned away.

Cristiel peered at Éowyn. Her blue eyes darted from face to face, searching for Aragorn too, Cristiel realized with chagrin. When Gimli distracted Éowyn from her searching, Cristiel let out the angry breath she'd been holding and returned her gaze to the crowd. She pressed through soldiers and horses, ignoring the troubled feeling that rose within her. Tripping suddenly on an upturned stone, she bumped into Legolas, who caught her hand. He pressed something cool into her palm, then calmly walked away. Cristiel watched him go curiously.

"Legolas, are you alright?"

He neither turned nor replied.

Disconcerted, she opened her hand. The taste of bile rose in her mouth. It was her mother's pendent, the Evenstar. Arwen had given it to Aragorn on their wedding day.

Cristiel whirled in search of Legolas, pushing her way fiercely through the crowd. She needed him to tell her this wasn't happening. She needed someone to confirm that her deepest fear was not coming true.

Éomer appeared and took her arms firmly. His face was hard and steady, his blue eyes piercing her browns. Something from a dark recess of her mind reached out and took hold of her heart for a split second. She swallowed it away.

"Éomer, where is Aragorn?"

He gave her arms a gentle squeeze and didn't break his penetrating gaze. "He fell."

She stared at him, feeling as though she'd been kicked in the gut. When he pulled her closer, she broke away from him, covering her mouth with a shaking hand.

"This can't be," she whispered. "He promised." New tears stung her eyes and she sucked in a sob. She felt Éomer take her arms again. She saw his mouth move, but no sound came. She stood frozen in place, staring at him. His scent was musty, blood-filled. He smelled like Boromir.

She wrenched away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had to get away from him, from the memory. She clenched the Evenstar tightly in her hand and ran into the depth of the Keep. She came to an empty hall, fingering the jewel that was warm now from her grip, sliding to the floor with her back against the cold stone wall. She pressed the Evenstar to her trembling lips.

A new weight was upon her shoulders, but she was fighting to keep her world from closing in around her. She wondered suddenly how long she would make it before she caved. And despite his best intentions, Éomer's sudden presence wasn't helping.

* * *

**Translation:**

**Eowyn's Lament for Theodred in Rohirric:  
"_Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended_**

_giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende _

_on Meduselde þæt he ma no wære__,_

_his dryhtne dyrest and mæga deorost. _

_Bealo...__"_

**English:  
"An evil death has set forth the noble warrior**

A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels

in Meduseld that he is no more,

to his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved.

An evil death..."

**Rohirric:  
"_Westu hál . . . Ferðu, Théodred, ferðu."_**

**English:  
"Be-thou well . . . Go-thou, Théodred, go-thou."**


	13. Helm's Deep Part 1

**Author's Note: **Okay, first off, let me just say that I fully intend to complete this story by next year. However, upon reading the first few chapters last week, I found myself cringing and seeing areas all over that I could completely redo. It was obvious to me that my writing has come a long way since I first started this story. I've invested a lot of time into the crafting of the story and the first several chapters that are posted don't even come close to what I have in mind now. So I have a question, and I'll know if you even read this note because I want you to leave your answer in a review or send me a message.

_Question: _Should I go back to the beginning and rewrite A Daughter of Kings again (and possibly give it a new title), now, leaving the story on FF dot net as it is? Or should I just rewrite it later and you get to read the crappier version first? I really, really want to rewrite it now, personally. So please message me with your answer or leave it in a review. Your opinion is greatly appreciated.

Meanwhile, here is a shorter chapter than normal. Actually it's not really a chapter, but a snippet. School is eating my life and I've been doing lots of writing, just not on this story *tear*

* * *

**Chapter XIII: Helm's Deep (Part 1)**

Cristiel covered her face with her hands, her palms smearing tears across her cheeks. The Evenstar lay on the cold floor beside her, unattended. A body crouched in front of her, chain mail rattling, oiled leather squeaking.

"You said there was nothing I could do," said Éomer softly. "I don't believe you anymore." He put his hand on her shoulder.

She dropped her hands from her face and look at him through teary eyes. "I'm sorry," she said in a shaky voice. "I should have told Éowyn."

"What are you talking about?"

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. "I don't know why I haven't said anything. I suppose it would be improper." She paused and picked up the Evenstar. It was dim, barely reflecting the light that flowed through the small windows above.

"Cristiel, what do you mean?"

She looked up at him again. His brow was drawn together in sympathy and confusion.

"Aragorn isn't my brother," she whispered, sniffling. "He's my father."

Éomer settled himself on the floor beside her. "And you've not told Éowyn?"

She shook her head. "I thought he would reject her advances, but I suppose it doesn't matter now."

He shifted so that he faced her more directly. "Where is your mother?"

"In Rivendell. But if she knew that he was..." she breathed in a sob and shut her eyes. "She would be sailing west."

"You believe she would leave you here?"

"She is Eldar. In the end it's her best choice." Cristiel swallowed past the knot in her throat and could speak no more. No matter how she wiped her eyes or ran hand through her hair, she couldn't get rid of the dread in the pit of her stomach, the knowledge that she would be forced to accept. She felt so alone. Her father was... gone... It hit her like a horse hoof in the face.

"What is that?" Éomer motioned to the Evenstar that her fingers toyed with. She told him.

"It's yours now, isn't it? You should put it on."

With shaking fingers she clasped the delicate mithril chain around her neck. Éomer nodded with approval.

"Maybe I should find Freda and Éothain," she said. "They're probably wondering where their new elder sister has gone off to."

She rose to her feet with Éomer's help, as her ankle could not support too much weight even with its brace. She smiled briefly before leaving him in the empty corridor. As she went back out into the open, the afternoon sun greeted her warmly and she wondered how the world could be so cheerful when everything around her seemed so dark.

She wandered through the Keep, searching for the children and staying out of the way of soldiers. She found them at last in the enclosed courtyard that led to the inner parts of the Keep.

"Cristiel!"

Freda came skipping towards her and took her hand.

"Come play with us! We found pebbles and have made a game of them."

She followed the little girl to where her brother sat on the ground, and after much coaxing, consented to join in their crude game of marbles. They played with small pebbles and instead of rolling them, they were flicked into a series of circles drawn onto the floor with a piece of charcoal.

Cristiel found a the game amusing, a surprisingly quaint diversion for her troubled heart and mind. When it was her turn, Freda announced it delightedly. Cristiel attempted to smile and half-heartedly aimed her stone. She gave it a hard snap and it knocked Éothain in his nose.

"Oww! What'd you do that for?"

"Oh sorry, Éothain! I didn't mean to."

The boy rubbed his nose as Freda began to giggle uncontrollably. Éothain pushed Freda playfully and she fell over onto the floor, laughing even harder. Even Cristiel managed to grin.

"How about I try again?" she offered.

Éothain backed away as Freda nodded. Cristiel shut one eye and made careful aim with her index finger inside her thumb. Then someone called her name.

She straightened and craned her neck. Legolas stood several paces behind her, his face glowing with none of the sorrow she'd seen earlier. Next to him was another figure, tattered and dirty. Her heart jumped in her chest.

She ignored Freda's pleading, her forgotten pebbles sliding from her hands. She stood and went quickly towards them, her lips parted with astonishment. Warm tears of relief filled her eyes and she pulled him to her, barely wrapping her arms around his neck. He returned her tight embrace, then she stepped back.

"How is this possible? Éomer said you'd been killed."

"Or more specifically, he fell," said Legolas, smirking as usual.

"Off a cliff," Aragorn finished.

Cristiel swallowed and stared at him, shaking her head. "I thought I'd lost you, _ada_." She gave him a once over. "You look terrible."

He grinned. "Legolas said the same." He gazed at her briefly then his eyes fell to the Evenstar hanging around her neck. She glanced down and quickly undid it, then placed it in his blood-crusted hand.

"_This is yours_," she said.

He stared at it, obviously surprised but taking it nonetheless. "_Thank you._" Then he glanced at Legolas with dark eyes. "I must see the king at once."

* * *

In the king's hall, all eyes were fixed on Aragorn as he relayed to Théoden what had happened and what he had witnessed. Those within earshot seemed to be holding their breath.

"A great host you say?" said Théoden thoughtfully.

"All Isengard is emptied."

"How many?"

"Ten thousand strong at least," Aragorn replied.

Théoden stiffened. "Ten thousand..."

"It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world of Men. They will be here by nightfall." Aragorn's words held in the air, a deep weight settling on those present.

"Let them come!" Théoden cried suddenly. Then he turned and strode out of the hall, Éomer and Gamling following swiftly behind. Aragorn watched them leave, his features betraying the perplexities he was feeling. Cristiel was behind him, waiting for him to burst out in anger or break down in tears; to do _something_. Instead he turned and looked at her with the most affectionate look on his face, then went after the king. Cristiel frowned, then realized they had until nightfall to prepare for battle. She pushed herself out of her seat and limped after him. She wasn't leaving his side this time.

When she caught up with him she caught his elbow and tried to keep his pace.

"There's something you're not telling me, and I'd really like to know what it is."

Aragorn pushed through the throngs of people, slowing his pace to help her keep up. "I saw your mother."

"What? How? Did she say anything?"

"It was only a vision."

They were in earshot of the king and his men.

"_Ada_, please—"

"Cristiel..." Aragorn halted and looked at her closely. There was a bitter glint in his eye as he lowered his voice. "She is sailing to the Undying Lands. She's not coming back." He continued when Cristiel tried to speak. "But for the grace of the Valar, I would not be standing here with you right now. She would not leave you here alone."

He paused as if to say something more, then moved away towards Théoden. Cristiel bit her lip and followed.

"I want every man and young lad able to bear arms to be ready for battle by nightfall," Théoden ordered. They walked along the battlements and towards the main gate. A few paces out onto the causeway they halted.

"We will cover the causeway and the gate from above," said Théoden, motioning to the ramparts overhead. "No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall, or set foot inside the Hornburg."

"This is no rabble of mindless orcs."

They turned to look at Gimli, who leaned against the great gate with an arm propped upon his axe.

"These are Uruk-Hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

"I have fought many wars, Master Dwarf," Théoden replied tersely. "I know how to defend my own keep."

They passed back through the gate and returned to the keep, Aragorn giving the disgruntled dwarf a pat on the shoulder as he passed. Then they went up a great spiral staircase and came out on the upper battlements.

"They will break upon this fortress like water on rock," Théoden continued. "Saruman's forces will pillage and burn. We've see it before. Crops can be re-sown, homes rebuilt. Within these walls we will outlast them."

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops and villages," said Aragorn, his eyes blazing. "They come to destroy its people, down to the last child!

Théoden gazed at him curiously, approaching him and staring him brazenly in the face. "What would you me do?" he challenged in a low voice. "Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have make such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."

"Send out riders, my lord. You must call for aid!"

"And who will come? Elves? Dwarves?" Théoden narrowed his eyes. "We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead."

"Gondor will answer!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"Gondor?" Théoden hissed. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gon—" He stopped suddenly, his gaze shifting to Cristiel. She avoided it. He took a breath and lowered his voice again. "No, my lord Aragorn. We are alone."

He turned briskly and disappeared down the stairs, shouting orders to his men. "Get the women and children into the caves!"

"We need more time to lay provisions—" Gamling protested.

"There is no time. War is upon us! Secure the gate!"

Aragorn leaned against the ramparts, scratching his chin. In the clear afternoon sky, a swollen flock of crows spun and veered, their screeches startling Cristiel. She gazed up at them, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. Then Éomer came up beside her.

"You heard the king," he said. "You should go down to the caves."

She turned and gazed at him cooly. "I will do no such thing, my lord." She brushed past him, and ignored the raised eyebrow that Legolas shot her way.

* * *

"We'll place the reserves along the wall. They can support the archers from above the gate." Aragorn motioned as he spoke, Legolas and Cristiel walking beside him, both listening intently. At length the elf put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

"Aragorn, you must rest. You are no use to us half alive."

"Can we at least clean your wounds?" Cristiel said, eying the bloody gash on her father's shoulder.

"Lord Aragorn!" Éowyn pushed her way through the crowd of people headed into the caves. Cristiel pressed her lips into a thin line.

"I'm to be sent with the women and children into the caves," said Éowyn.

"That is an honorable charge," Aragorn replied.

"To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return! What renown is there in that?"

"My lady, a time may come for valor without renown," said Aragorn softly. "Who then will your people look to in their last defense?"

"Let me stand at your side."

"It is not in my power to command it." He started to turn away. Cristiel caught his gaze with a hard look.

"You do not command the others to stay!" Éowyn continued. Aragorn turned to her reluctantly. "They fight beside you because they would not be parted from you. Because they love you."

Cristiel inhaled and clenched her teeth. She knew it; she'd known it all along. But now Éowyn was making it much too obvious. She glanced around hoping to see Éomer coming to distract his sister, but he was nowhere to be found.

Aragorn stood silently as an embarrassed Éowyn apologized and brushed by him to join the throng of people that was shuffling into the caves. Cristiel caught her father's gaze again, mixed feelings rolling around inside. Without a word, she huffed and made her way out of the crowd.

Now standing on a battlement, she watched as the people below her went slowly underground, leaving outside only those who would fight. Then someone grabbed her arm.

"You really should go to the caves."

She glared at Éomer from the corner of her eye. "Your sister just proclaimed her love for my father, and he didn't say a word in return."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because she's your sister and you have a responsibility to her as her elder brother, don't you?"

"You sound frustrated," Éomer said bluntly.

She sighed. "I'm just—I'm so..."

"Exhausted? Wounded?" he finished for her despite her eye roll. "It would be suicide for you to remain out here. As soon as the sun sets, Saruman's forces will surround this fortress and they will have no mercy for stubborn and injured young women."

"I didn't say I wanted to fight!" she protested. "I—I can't go down there yet." _Because I want to be with my father_, she finished in her head.

Éomer shook his head and adjusted his scabbard. "If you insist, then go find some way to make yourself useful. But don't touch a weapon. I don't want you to get hurt." He gave her a knowing look and left her on the battlement. She thought it considerate that he would say such a thing, then she realized how immensely much he was beginning to bother her.

* * *

Thanks for reading! And don't forget to answer my question, which was in the author's note above that you should have read.

-Raz


	14. Helm's Deep Part 2

**Author's Note:** Well, I decided to just finish draft 2 of this story (which I should have done a long time ago anyway). The beginnings of draft 3 are in the works of course, but I will continue to complete draft 2 and post it here until it is done. Then I will get serious about draft 3, and hopefully this story will improve dramatically.

So as always, read, enjoy, and review please!

_PS: Most italic dialogue is Sindarin._

* * *

Chapter XIV: Helm's Deep (Part 2)

She found an empty corner, out of the way and deep within the Keep, and settled herself there. It was more a room filled with rusting swords than a corner. Occasionally a soldier in a worried rush would come in and take three or four blades and leave the room without even noticing her. She preferred it that way. She laid her own sword over her knees and slid it carefully from its sheath. The elvish engravings that graced the blade sparkled in the dim candlelight.

_"This is Hallamarth, forged in __Laurelindórenan.__ Forever in the hands of a woman. May courage follow her and love be her wings."_

Cristiel didn't know whether to be proud of those words or ashamed. She may have been a woman, but she didn't appreciate how the Rohirrim patronized theirs. She admitted to herself suddenly that she felt pity for Éowyn. Yes, her father could do nothing to prevent the woman from doing down into the caves, but if it had been her own choice, she would have let Éowyn stay above to fight. The Eldar trained their women in the arts of warfare same as the men. Why couldn't the Edain do the same? She decided it was all to do with their pride. She knew Boromir would never have wanted to lose to her in Rivendell. He'd allowed her to win, just to make her feel special. But if it had come down to it, he could have pinned her in the dust by sheer brute strength, without a struggle.

She leaned her head back against the cool stone wall. A month ago the thought had never crossed her mind that she would lose Boromir. A month ago she'd been blissfully in love with him, unaware and ignorant of the fact that was glaring her in the face, the fact that sooner or later the ring would consume the Fellowship. She'd never thought Boromir would be weak enough to fall first. She'd never imagined such a strong, proud man of Gondor would fall prey to something so little and unassuming. The power the ring had wielded against his mind must have been terrifying. All he'd wanted to do was save his people, and instead he lost his life.

Light footsteps down the corridor made her sit up straighter and she turned her attention back to her sword.

"What are you doing in here alone? I thought you'd gone down to the caves."

She looked up and saw Legolas standing in the doorway.

"I'm enjoying the calm before the storm," she replied.

He walked into the room and gazed around. "You don't seriously think your father will let you fight? Not in your condition."

She peered down at her ankle in its brace, and sighed. "I hate this," she said. "I hate all of it. I know it's a terrible thing to say, but I cannot lower myself to cowering in the caves with the rest of the women and children, while my father fights up here. I thought I'd lost him, Legolas. I don't want to lose him again. I've already lost so much..."

Legolas approached her, lifting his chin. "You think that by risking yourself here you can keep your father from harm?"

"Wouldn't you do the same for your father?"

Legolas bent close, his gaze boring into hers. "I do not have the weaknesses that you bear," he said softly, his voice cutting through her thin veneer of outer strength. "I do have the capability of fighting without injuring myself. What do you have, Estelwen? A broken heart?"

She grew uncomfortable under his gaze, and he pulled back.

"You must rest. At least this time. You cannot fight in your condition, and these are Uruk-hai, not Moria orcs. They would knock you over if they even touched you."

She returned his gaze suddenly. "Then what would you have me do?"

He paused, considering. "You will not go into the caves?"

She shook her head and slipped her sword back into its sheath.

"Come with me," he beckoned. "Aragorn will be preparing for battle."

* * *

The sun was sinking behind the mountains, leaving a deepening shadow across the Keep. Cristiel followed Legolas down the corridors and through another gate. A crowd of men was gathered in the armory ahead of them, and they pushed through them until they reached the other end of the room. Aragorn was there, standing with one thumb in his belt. Cristiel flinched at his hard gaze when he saw her, but he said nothing. He picked up a nearby sword and gripped it, noting the blade and testing its strength. Then he handed it to an old man with a bandage over his eye.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys," said Aragorn. "These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli commented.

"Or too few," said Legolas.

Cristiel looked around at the crowd of men and boys. Some of the teenagers were built no stronger than she was. She watched a young boy struggle to carry a broad axe that was taller than him.

"Look at them, they're frightened. You can see it in their eyes."

The whole room paused and looked at Legolas. Cristiel held her breath.

_"And they should be,"_ Legolas continued in Sindarin. _"Three hundred against ten thousand!"_

_"They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras,"_ Aragorn countered.

_"Aragorn, they cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!"_

"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn glared at Legolas, who returned the look with an equally intense stare. Cristiel was tempted to step between the two of them, but Aragorn turned without another word and stalked out of the room. Legolas almost went after him, but for Gimli's hold on his arm.

"Let him go, lad. Let him be."

The hush in the room gradually faded into low talk and the clanging of metal. Cristiel grabbed Legolas' arm. "You're not helping!" she said softly. "How could you say something like that?"

Legolas rubbed his temple and shook his head. "I don't know."

He adjusted his quiver strap and pushed through the crowd in the other direction. Gimli saw the vacant look on Cristiel's face and patted her arm. "This war will take a toll on more than just bodies," he said.

She stared at the dwarf, and quietly let three words slip from her lips. "It already has." She left the armory and went after Legolas. She found him standing on a battlement in the evening air, staring into the distance. His bow was in his hand.

"What do you see?" she asked.

"A great army," he replied.

Cristiel squinted and tried to make out a dark shape on the horizon. All she saw on the horizon were a few specks of light.

"It's almost nightfall," she said.

Legolas turned and looked down at her. Something in his eyes told her the gears in his head her turning. "I need to apologize," he said suddenly. Cristiel smiled.

* * *

They found Aragorn in the empty armory, adjusting his chain mail. Legolas picked up the man's sword and held it out to him.

"We have trusted you this far and you have not led us astray," the prince said. "Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

_"There is nothing to forgive, Legolas."_

They took each other's shoulders firmly. Cristiel turned at a rustling of chain mail and had to withhold her laughter.

"If we had time, I'd get this adjusted," said Gimli. He let his shirt of chain mail fall to the ground. It dragged around his feet, obviously too long for him. "It's a little tight across the chest."

Cristiel and her father exchanged amused looks.

Suddenly a loud horn sounded outside and Legolas looked at them with shining eyes. "That is no Orc horn." He ran out of the room, and they followed him. They came outside and ran across a battlement. Cristiel glanced towards the causeway below and saw rows upon rows of warriors, dressed in blue and carrying long bows, marching through the gate.

She had to slow to a walk as they came to a flight of stairs. Her ankle stung but she ignored it. She watched from above as the leader of the army stepped forward, and she swallowed. She wanted to sink into the ground or hide behind the wall, but instead, she stared in astonishment.

Haldir acknowledged the King with a bow. "I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago we fought and died together." As he spoke, he surveyed those who had gathered, and he saw Aragorn and Legolas coming down the stairs. Cristiel went carefully behind them. A smile broke out on Haldir's face. "We come to honor that allegiance."

Cristiel felt the corner of her mouth rise as her father rushed forward to hug the marchwarden. Haldir hesitated but received the gesture mutually.

"You are most welcome," said Aragorn.

Legolas stepped forward and the elves swiftly turned towards him, standing at attention. Cristiel kept her distance, using Éomer's shadow to hide behind.

"We are proud to fight alongside Men once more," Haldir proclaimed. Théoden stepped forward and thanked him, and Aragorn began giving out orders. As Haldir began to turn away, he spotted Cristiel and immediately came towards her. She inhaled, but the breath came out shakily. She stared at him further as his expression changed and she didn't like at all what she saw. She glanced at Éomer who was still beside her, but the man was frowning at the elf. She groaned internally. _Elrond, you really couldn't resist complicating matters, could you?_

"Estelwen, it's so good to see you again, but I wish we could have been reunited under better circumstances."

"Being on the edge of battle hasn't seemed to deter anything lately," she said quickly, making her way back up the stairs.

"Have you gotten along well, despite your loss?"

She stopped and looked at him, hard and cold. He gazed back and she shivered. She pressed towards the top of the stairs and made her way quickly across the Keep to the armory where she'd left her sword.

"Estelwen!" he called. She ignored him. She knew what he wanted, and he wasn't good at hiding it anymore. She glanced behind her and walked faster. His long strides caught up with hers. He followed her into the armory and taking her arm, spun her around. "Estelwen, you cannot continue to hide these things from me forever. You must know that I care for you deeply."

She pulled against his grip on her arm, and he tightened it. "Haldir, I care for you too, but as a friend."

"You say that, but I know you feel much more."

She stared up at him. Her eyes were dry from crying earlier. "I feel nothing," she whispered. "It's been a week, Haldir. How can you expect me to feel any different?" She choked on the last word as her throat tightened.

He brushed her black hair away from her forehead, his thumb grazing the scabbing gash where she'd hit her head at Amon Hen. "Do you remember what I told in Lothlórien the day you refused to stay?"

Cristiel's eyes fluttered shut as he caressed her cheeks. "No," she whispered.

"I told you I wanted you to see me as your elder brother, but I didn't mean that."

She opened her eyes and took Haldir's hand away from her face. "You don't have any idea what I've been through, what I'm still going through. Your presence only makes it worse."

"I want you to be happy, Estelwen. I love you." He wore the same determined face she'd seen minutes ago when she tried to run away from him.

She shook her head. "No," she said softly. "I'm sorry, Haldir. I cannot love you." She slipped out of his loosened grasp. "I think you have a battle to fight."

She left the room and escaped to the outer walls of the Keep. In the dark distance, she could see the growing shadow of approaching Uruk-hai soldiers, their torches shining in the night. She shivered in the cold air and drew her cloak around her shoulders. She was half-expecting Haldir to show up behind her any second, but when she turned she only saw him out of the corner of her eye striding towards the lines of elven archers that had gathered along the Deeping Wall. She swallowed away the hint of guilt that rose up within her. She'd rejected him, but only because he was her friend. She wanted it to stay that way.

A body came up beside her, and she was almost afraid to see who it was.

"It's going to rain. That doesn't bode well for this night."

Cristiel glanced up at Éomer. "So now you're a seer."

He shook his head and placed his helmet on the wall. "There are no stars."

She gazed up at the night sky. He was right. It made her shiver again, knowing the Valar weren't looking down on them at a time when their grace was needed most.

"When will I be able to convince you to go down to the caves?" he asked.

"You won't stop asking me, will you?"

"It's for your own good," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I suppose the women of your country are used to being coddled and patronized, and treated as though they are helpless," she said slowly. "Unfortunately for you I'm not a Rohirric woman."

To her surprise, Éomer chuckled. "You think I'm patronizing you? Would you prefer me to order you to fight with the men?"

She bit her lip at his suggestion. "If I was not physically disabled at the moment, I wouldn't have a problem with it."

She thought she saw a small smile form on his face. "You would do well not to remain out in the open when the fighting begins."

"I'm not stupid, Éomer."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "I never said you were," he said lightly. "Are you always this independent?"

"Only when I'm around men like you who would rather have me cooped up in a cave then outside enjoying the cold night air."

She could tell he was really smiling now. She looked out at the horizon again. It was filling with tiny flickering torches, and a faint roaring could be heard, the sound of twenty thousand heavy feet.

"Your elf friend, Haldir. He is more than a friend to you, isn't he?"

She sighed and leaned onto the wall, putting her chin in her hands. "I really wish you hadn't brought that up." When he looked at her curiously, she conceded. "He is only a friend, contrary to what he feels for me. I see no way that I could ever feel more for him than I do now."

"He seemed to think otherwise."

She shook her head in her hands. "How much of that conversation did you accidentally overhear?"

"Enough," he replied. There was a long silence as Cristiel stared at him. "I'm sorry, I should not—"

"No, no, it's fine. I think he loved me longer than I realized. But when Boromir was... Haldir was wise not to make his feelings known. Boromir would have had his head for sure." A smile crept onto her face at the thought of a jealous Boromir threatening Haldir. Now there was no jealous man to protect her. At least she thought...

"Éomer?"

"Yes?"

Cristiel took a breath. "I don't want to sound helpless..." she frowned at the smile that formed on his lips at the word. "Do you think I could ask something of you, after the battle?"

"I don't see why not, as long as it doesn't involve cutting off a certain elf's head."

She grinned and shook her head. "Of course, nothing like that..." she trailed off as she looked down towards the Deeping Wall, where she knew Haldir, Aragorn, and Legolas were ready to defend the Keep. She should be down there, sword in hand, waiting to fight.

"How are the men?" said Théoden, coming to stand beside Éomer, who straightened.

"They are anxious, my lord, but they are ready to fight."

The king nodded. "How did it come to this, Éomer?"

"This was not of your doing, my lord. Only the doings of evil men."

The army of Uruk-hai advanced on the fortress, filling the gap between the mountains. Lighting flashed across the sky, briefly flooding the land with light and revealing the numbers of Uruks. They were like a black sea, scattered with flickering torches, spreading over the hills and to the horizon. Thunder crackled, and on the Deeping Wall, Aragorn was shouting orders in Sindarin.

"What is he saying?" Éomer asked.

"Show them no mercy," Cristiel translated. "For you shall receive none."

Cold rain began to fall and Cristiel drew her cloak closer around her. The Uruk-hai army came to a halt. The roaring echoed into the mountains and was replaced by a nervous silence. There was heavy breathing below and rain clinking off metal armor. Then the Uruks began to stamp their spears into the ground, beating their chests threateningly. Cristiel, Éomer, and Théoden watched as Aragorn held his sword out. The elves on the wall and the men in the Keep drew their bows, ready to fire. Cold water dripped down Cristiel's face, soaking her skin and making goosebumps rise on her neck.

Suddenly an arrow was shot from somewhere in the Keep below them and hit an Uruk-hai in its neck.

_"Hold!"_ cried Aragorn

The wounded Uruk fell into the mud face first. Ferocious growls rose from the horde. One of the Uruk captains gave a blood-thirsty shout, and the army advanced on the fortress.

"So it begins," said Théoden.

Cristiel was shivering now, but she remained beside Éomer and the king. She watched as the elves aimed their bows and fired on Aragorn's command. A curtain of arrows swung down on the Uruks and knocked down their front lines.

"Give them a volley," Théoden ordered.

Éomer thrust his arm forward. "Fire!"

Another wave of arrows fell from Helm's Deep, and more Uruks tumbled to the ground.

_"Full volley!"_ cried Aragorn.

Some Uruks began to fire cross-bows on the elves, while others raised ladders towards the Deeping Wall. They climbed onto the ladders as they were raised and leaped onto the wall, swinging scimitars and clubs and other primitive weapons in all directions. Cristiel couldn't see her father now in the deepening darkness. She shivered involuntarily and felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You should go inside, Cristiel."

She squinted up at Éomer through the rain, wanting to retort. Then she shivered violently and nodded without a word. She limped carefully across the wet stones and breathed a sigh when she came to the dry citadel. She couldn't see the battle now, but she could still hear it. She went to the armory where she'd forgotten to get her sword after Haldir had followed her. She strapped it to her waist and laid it flat inside her cloak. She would wait, and hope that the Uruks couldn't break the defenses of Helm's Deep. The king had said it was impossible, but she wasn't going to take any chances.

She pulled her cloak over her head to shield her face from the driving rain, and went back out onto the parapet where Théoden and Éomer still stood.

"You'd rather be out here?"

"It was rain or caves," she said, ignoring her shivering. Éomer chuckled.

They watched as the Uruk-hai continued raising ladders up and down the Deeping Wall.

"Causeway!" was Aragorn's sudden cry. Cristiel looked over the edge of the wall and saw a long group of Uruks, huddled under their shields, making their way up the causeway to the gate. A volley of arrows rained down on them, but only two or three Uruks fell.

"Is this it?" said Théoden "Is this all you can conjure, Saruman?"

Suddenly, the foundations of the stone fortress trembled beneath their feet. A roaring explosion ripped through the Deeping Wall, tearing a wide gash and sending chunks of masonry flying hundreds of feet into the air. Bodies sent flying from the explosion were skewered on Uruk pikes, and as a torrent of water rushed through the opening the Uruk-hai charged against it. They had breached the Deeping Wall.

On the other side of the Hornburg, the Uruk-hai on the causeway rushed at the gate, bearing a massive ram. Théoden turned just in time to give the order.

"Brace the gate!"

Cristiel stared dumbstruck at the scene of carnage. "My father and Haldir are down there!" she cried. Éomer grabbed her before she could run off. Théoden was shouting more orders to his men at the gate.

"Hold them! Stand firm!"

Resisting Éomer's hold on her, Cristiel searched frantically for any sign of Aragorn. Then she heard his cry in the distance.

_"Release arrows!"_

She watched as the front ranks of the encroaching Uruks fell. Then with a cry to charge, Aragorn and the elves rushed the enemy forces. Cristiel was itching to be down there with him, but Éomer's grip on her upper arm wasn't about to loosen. She exhaled through her nose, reminding herself that she could barely walk comfortably, much less run on her ankle, even though it was braced.

The Uruk-hai continued to spill through the gash in the Deeping Wall, breaking through the elven lines like water on sand.

"There are too many Uruk-hai. It's a death trap," Cristiel said, watching in horror as warrior upon warrior was slaughtered.

Théoden had had enough of it as well it seemed, and shouted to Aragorn. "Fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!"

He did, and Haldir and his troops retreated from the battlefield, into the Keep. Turning back towards the gate, they watched as the Uruk's punched a hole in it with their ram. Cross-bows shot man after man, and the ram pushed through. Théoden drew his sword and motioned to Éomer and Gamling.

"To the gate. Draw your swords!"

At last Éomer let Cristiel's arm go, but he gave her a firm look. "Stay here." He almost smiled when she drew her sword, then he ran quickly after Théoden Cristiel pulled her hood back to give her face fresh air, as the rain had dwindled to a light drizzle. After a brief look all around her, she realized the Uruks had the advantage, and had surrounded the Hornburg on all three sides. She turned and saw Gimli and Aragorn running along the inner ring of the Keep, heading for the gate. Then she looked further towards the Deeping Wall and saw Uruks flooding through, heading for the long stair on the far side of the Hornburg wall. If she remained in her vantage point and the Uruks broke through either side, she'd be trapped.

She ran gingerly down from the battlement, sword in hand, and went into the lower level of the Hornburg. She was amidst a flurry of elves who were making their way into the Keep as ordered.

"Estelwen! What are you doing?" Haldir ran up to her, his face streaked with dirt and blood.

"I am _not_ going to the caves!"

"It's too late for that anyway," he replied. He turned to glance behind him and winced.

"You're hurt!" she said, seeing blood seeping from a gash in his breastplate.

"I'll be fine," he replied. "Come with me."

For the third time that night, she was taken by the arm and pulled behind him as he made for the inner Keep. "Haldir, this really isn't necessary—"

"They're overrunning the Hornburg walls. They will breach the gate within minutes."

Cristiel glanced towards the gate where Théoden was ordering his men to hold fast. Above them, giant ladders had been placed against the Hornburg walls and Uruks could be seen clambering onto the upper battlements.

"Fall back! Fall back!"

"They have broken through! Retreat!"

The men at the gate pulled back and were trampled by Uruk-hai.

"Estelwen, come!" Haldir pulled her onward, and they hurried into the Keep with the rest of the soldiers. Behind them, men screamed in pain and shouted final battle cries as the Uruk-hai advanced into the Hornburg. Haldir pushed her inside the gate as it was slammed shut behind them. She seethed in pain suddenly as her ankle gave way from a wrong step.

"Are you alright?" asked Haldir, searching her pained face. She nodded and leaned on his shoulder while she carefully tested her weight.

"I'll be fine," she muttered.

Aragorn paused and strode over to them. "Cristiel! Why aren't you in the caves?"

She clenched her fist and dug her fingernails into her palm against the stinging in her ankle. "Did Éomer not tell you?"

"He told me he would order you into the caves himself."

She shook her head. "It didn't work."

Haldir bent to support Cristiel, wincing at his own wound. "The horse lord does not know your daughter well enough, Aragorn. You should know better."

Aragorn shook his head and motioned to Haldir. "Take her to the armory and lock the door."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Haldir nodded and immediately made for the back door at the end of the hall, dragging her with him.


	15. Of Wild Trees and Mad Horses

**Chapter XV: Of Wild Trees and Mad Horses**

Haldir dragged Cristiel behind him as he made for the armory deep within the Keep. After a few steps, she shook herself free of his grasp in a clear sign of protest.

"I'm fine. I can walk."

They both turned as the battering ram shook the gate again, the force knocking men to the floor. Haldir reached for her hand.

"Estelwen!"

They went through the door and down the length of another empty hall, then they came to the armory.

"You're not really going to lock me in here, are you?" she asked.

Haldir raised an eyebrow and opened the door. "You will go in here."

"Don't lock it, Haldir."

"I'm following your father's orders."

She pulled herself from his grasp again and planted herself on a barrel with arms crossed. "I will not go in there. I'm sorry Haldir. That's ridiculous."

"I won't be locking you in because I will be in there with you, locking it from the inside. Use your head, Estelwen."

She ignored his smirk and fingered the hilt of her sword. He crossed to the other side of the hall. From there he could hear the sounds coming from the front hall, the ram beating the gate, soldiers crying out or giving orders, Aragorn pleading for safe passage for the women and children.

"Do you think we will win this fight?"

Haldir looked at her. "No, I do not."

"Why, Haldir? Do have no courage that we can win?"

"Only a fool's courage, perhaps. But realistically there are too many of them, and not enough of us."

Her reply was cut short when Gamling and another soldier ran past them, towards the entrance to the caves.

"What's going on?" Cristiel asked, rising to her feet.

"Lord Aragorn ordered that the women and children be taken through the mountains," Gamling replied. "The Uruk-hai are breaking in."

Gamling disappeared behind the gate, and Cristiel took Haldir's moment of hesitation to run out of the room. Just as she came to the king's hall, the Uruk-hai rammed the front gate violently enough to knock over three men.

"So much death," Théoden was saying. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?"

Cristiel exchanged a glance with Éomer just as Haldir came up behind her, grabbing her elbow gently. "Estelwen, it is not safe here," he said in a low voice. She ignored him.

"Ride out with me," said Aragorn. "Ride out and meet them."

Cristiel felt her chest swell with pride at her father's request.

"For death and glory," said the king.

"For Rohan," said Éomer, his voice rising.

Aragorn nodded, a fire growing in his eyes. "For your people."

"The sun is rising," said Gimli. They looked towards a window high in the wall. Streams of warm daylight were flooding through.

"Yes." King Théoden nodded slowly, and paced across the hall. "Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep one last time!"

"Yes!" Gimli cried. He sprinted out of the hall.

Cristiel flinched as the gate shook, splintered wood flying in all directions. One more hit and the Uruks would come charging in. She gripped her sword hilt.

Théoden went forward and placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Let this be the hour when we draw swords together."

Cristiel gazed about frantically as men ran to and fro, bringing out horses and readying weapons.

"Fell deeds, awake!" cried Théoden. He mounted his horse and put on his helmet.

"Cristiel!"

She whirled at Legolas' use of her mother-name and found him on his horse.

"Now for wrath, now for ruin!" cried Théoden. "And a red dawn!"

She ran towards the elf and he lifted her onto his horse so she sat behind him.

"Hold onto me and you might not fall off," he said. She drew her sword, adrenaline rushing through her.

Somewhere above them a mighty horn blast echoed through the Keep. The gates burst open in a shower of wood and the Uruk-hai spilled into the hall. Théoden raised his sword.

"Forth Eorlingas!"

They charged out of the hall as the horn sounded again. Every Uruk in their path they slaughtered easily, and they galloped over those who didn't get out of their way. They rode out onto the causeway, crowded by thousands of Uruk-hai. Cristiel swung her sword with all her strength, her free arm wrapped around Legolas' torso. She didn't keep track of how many she attempted to kill, nor how much blood spurted onto her face. She was fighting alongside men, and for once, she was confident about it. A blade bit her thigh, but she cut the attacker away fiercely, plunging her blade into his neck.

Suddenly a bright light shone over the hills in the east, and the Uruk-hai stopped attacking. Everyone turned towards the source of the light as a lone rider appeared on the hilltop. The white rider.

"Gandalf!" Cristiel whispered in amazement. The wizard had not gone back on his promise. She grinned, then stuck her blade through the head of an Uruk.

Behind the wizard appeared a thousand horses and riders.

"Erkenbrand has come!" Théoden shouted.

The horde of Riders gave a great cry and began to gallop down the steep hillside. Then the sun rose above them, shining brilliant rays of light into the eyes of the Uruks. The Riders charged down the hill and collided with the enemy, slaughtering them, horse hooves splintering their helmets, long pikes skewering them. The king gave a cry of victory, and the riders around them thrust their weapons into the air triumphantly. The Uruk-hai fled from the Hornburg, and went over the hills towards the forest.

Cristiel had to take a second glance.

"Legolas, were those trees there yesterday?"

"Those are not trees. They are Huorn."

"Stay out of the forest! Keep away from the trees!" cried Gandalf as he rode among the ranks of Riders that had followed the Uruks.

"Huorn, Legolas? You mind telling me more?"

"Watch."

The Uruks ran into the woods, and there was a brief moment of silence. Then a great commotion rose up, like a flock of birds or a herd of wild animals, honking and growling and roaring. The trees themselves began to sway and move. Cristiel's eyes widened.

"Did those trees just..."

"Yes, Estelwen. Now I hope you have a new appreciation for them."

She squeezed his shoulder and couldn't help but smile.

* * *

With the Uruk-hai defeated, the Rohirrim returned to the Keep giving shouts of joy over their victory. When they reached the causeway, Haldir was the first to greet Cristiel by helping her from Legolas' horse. She winced slightly as she put weight on her injured ankle, but that was not what Haldir noticed.

"You are bleeding." He put his hand over the thin gash on her thigh, but she pushed it away.

"I'm fine. It's only a scratch. What about you?" She glanced at his chest. The blood was drying on his metallic armor.

Haldir just looked at her firmly, then nodded his thanks to Legolas. The elf prince returned Cristiel's pleading gaze with a smirk and sauntered off to find Gimli.

"We must get you fixed up," Haldir said. Ignoring Cristiel's protests, he took her hand and pulled her inside the Keep walls. The women and children were being let out of the caves, and Cristiel saw Éowyn run to give Aragorn a hug. When he returned the woman's embrace warmly, Cristiel inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. Haldir saw her expression.

"You didn't think your father would actually be able to stand Arwen's departure, did you?"

Cristiel stared at him, her upper lip curling slightly. There was nothing she could say that might make Éowyn change her mind. It was clear that Haldir's was already made up as he crushed her hand in his.

She followed him to the inner hall, where cots had been set up for the injured. When she saw Burwena hurrying about the hall, she almost grinned. The old healer was too busy attending to serious injuries that she didn't see Haldir as he strode up to her. When he put a hand on the woman's shoulder, she jumped. Then she saw Cristiel, and pushed a frizzy strand of gray hair from her face.

"What did I tell you about runnin' 'round on your ankle, my lady? An' now look what you've done! Come with me..."

Cristiel was more than happy to go with Burwena as long as it separated her from Haldir's overbearing nature. The elf was occupied by his own injury now, so she took the chance to escape him. Burwena took her to a private room and had her remove all excess clothing from her leg. The gash had cut into her skin but thankfully had not severed any muscle.

Burwena quickly cleaned and bandaged the wound, scolding Cristiel all the time about her brash and unladylike behavior.

"It's a wonder to me 'ow any man would want you, my lady. It seems you've 'ad no problem, I spose. With your elf friend an' all, eh?" Her gentle gray eyes glittered, but Cristiel shook her head.

"I don't think I feel the same way about him," she replied.

"Give it time, my lady."

"Please don't call me that. I'm Cristiel."

"You had better get used to it, Cristiel. I know who your father is. A very important man, that Aragorn."

Cristiel pulled her clothing back on and strapped the ankle brace back to her foot. She tried to bend it a little, but winced and decided she'd only inflame the injury.

"Thank you, Burwena, for all you've done for me," Cristiel said quietly. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

"There is. You can stop 'urtin' yourself by not fightin' beside the men."

Cristiel sighed and briefly wondered if she might lay down her sword for at least a portion of the war. It wasn't an appealing idea.

She went back out into the crowded Keep, where families were reuniting and wives were mourning their dead husbands. Cristiel's chest ached for a moment as she thought of Boromir, but the memory faded as Éomer came up to her. She smiled and he inclined his head respectfully.

"You fought bravely," he said.

"Thank you, my lo—"

"For a woman," he cut her off.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, but he smiled.

"You have every right to be proud of what you wish to do on the battlefield," he said. He drew up near to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "But this victory will be one of very few, I fear. I don't want you to feel obligated to fight again. The battles will grow fiercer."

"Well," said Cristiel thoughtfully. "If I keep getting hurt at this rate, I won't be able to anyway." She glanced at her leg, but didn't make a show of it.

Éomer grinned and put a casual arm around her shoulders. She shifted, but liked his touch. She couldn't help but be reminded of Boromir's strong embrace. They walked onto the Deeping Wall, surveying the bodies of orcs strewn across the land.

"How is your friend, Haldir?" he asked.

"He gained a nasty wound in his chest, but he'll be fine," she replied curtly.

Éomer looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "If I can recall there was something you wanted to ask of me."

Her spirit lightened. She'd hoped he'd remembered. "Yes! It's about Haldir. He—"

"Loves you," Éomer finished. "And the feeling isn't mutual."

She nodded, surprised at first that he knew, but grateful. "I know this might seem manipulative, but I'm desperate now, Éomer. Do you think you could stay with me?" she asked, choosing her words slowly. "In order to... discourage Haldir..."

Éomer was silent as they went down a flight of stairs from the Wall and walked towards the Deeping Stream. Théoden, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Erkenbrand were gathered there. Then Éomer dropped his arm from her shoulders and took her hand gently.

"I shall do my best," he said quietly, his blue eyes glimmering.

Cristiel smiled and they went over to join the king and the others in the grass. Aragorn looked at her briefly, noticing her hand in Éomer's. Cristiel shook her head, hoping he'd understand that it wasn't what it looked like. Then there was a shout behind them and they turned. Gamling and Gimli walked towards them, and Gimli raised his axe in the air.

"Forty-two, Legolas! How many for you?"

"Forty-three," the elf replied smugly.

"It is good to see you on two legs, Gimli!" said Aragorn. The dwarf didn't respond because he was too busy grumbling at Legolas.

Éomer went forward and looked at Gandalf. "Always you come in our hour of need, unlooked-for!"

"I said I would return and meet you here," Gandalf replied.

"But what of the trees?" said Théoden. "Your wizardry skills are truly great, Gandalf."

"The trees were not my doing. They are but a memory of a greater power that walked this earth long before even the elves awoke."

"Then where do they come from?" Théoden asked.

"If you would like to know, then come with me to Isengard," said Gandalf. "I must speak with Saruman."

The king nodded. "Great injury has Saruman dealt to me and this land. I will remember it when we meet."

Then he sent out the order that all the injured and weak should return to Edoras with the women and children and elderly, save for Éomer and twenty of his best men. At this order, Éomer squeezed Cristiel's hand.

"I promise we will return to the city by tomorrow night," he reassured her.

She smiled gratefully and watched him mount his horse.

"Do you think you will survive?" he asked, a smile playing at his lips.

She chuckled softly. "I think I'll manage."

He nodded his head respectfully, his cool features warmed by his smile. Then he spurred his mount forward. Cristiel watched him ride away with his men, then went over to Aragorn.

"You are too injured to travel any more. Come back to Edoras with us," she pleaded. Aragorn put a hand on her arm, shaking his head.

"I must go with Gandalf. Go to Edoras with Eowyn. I will send Haldir with you."

"Ada..."

"Haldir is close friend of yours and he will watch out for you," said Aragorn gently. "Please, do as I ask."

He mounted his horse and followed the other Riders out of the Keep. Cristiel wrapped her arms across her chest and shut her eyes briefly, relishing the warm morning sunlight that was spilling into the valley. He'd left her again. She tried to imagine the look that might be on Lord Elrond's face if he'd known.

"Cristiel! Where were you all this time? I was afraid you'd been killed!"

She turned and saw Éowyn coming towards her. She was happy to see the woman, but only because her father wasn't around.

"I... I convinced your brother that I couldn't be in the caves," she replied. "It's a rather private matter though." She clenched her teeth. _Why didn't I mention my father? What is wrong with me?_ she scolded herself.

"Well, I suppose you're not too worse for the wear," Éowyn said, her eyes landing on Cristiel's bandaged leg. "Come. We must make ready to leave."

They went back into the Keep, where the people were overjoyed at the victory. What had been terrified looks the day before had turned to relief and exuberant gladness. They had praised the king as he rode out with his men to Isengard, and now they looked more than ready to be heading home.

Cristiel went quickly to the stable where Raud was impatiently kicking at his stall door. He had probably seen all the other horses taken away by their riders and wanted to follow them. Cristiel scolded him for his "rude" behavior and quickly tacked him up. She led him out amongst the people and prepared to haul herself into the saddle without hurting her ankle.

"You will leave me to walk the entire way?"

She turned exasperatedly to Haldir, who had crossed his arms. Another glance at him told her he was teasing.

"Why do you not lead your men back to Lórien? I am sure you're needed there much more than you are here."

"I have my orders, Cristiel. Aragorn would be very disappointed if he knew I'd abandoned you. I have sent word with my men to Lothlórien. Orophin and Rumil will take my place of command on the border until I return."

"And when will that be?"

"In due time. The hand of Sauron is stretching further and faster than we'd anticipated, so I have no expectations."

She sighed and chewed on the inside of her lip, watching the masses of Rohan flow around them out of the Keep and down the causeway. Then she looked back at Haldir.

"Since you insist upon watching me at all times, then I suppose I must concede to your wishes. But only this time."

Haldir nodded and helped her easily into the saddle. Raud stamped impatiently and Haldir whispered words into his ears that made him relax. Then he leaped onto the chestnut's back behind her and they followed the crowd of people out the gates and onto the causeway.

Cristiel squinted in the bright sunlight and gazed at the hundreds of corpses of orcs, men, and elves strewn across the ground. Soldiers were walking among the bodies, taking care to bury the men and elves, and leaving the Uruks to rot.

"I lost many friends here last night," said Haldir. "But I am glad to have you by my side."

"So am I," she replied. She wasn't sure if she meant it.

He slipped his arm around her waist, and took the reins from her. "You must forgive me for my words yesterday. I should have controlled myself, but I thought it might be my last chance."

She felt something lift off of her heart. "Then you regret that you said you loved me?"

"No. But perhaps I should have waited. I realize how deeply you loved Boromir, but I didn't realize it'd been only a week. For that I am extremely sorry."

She turned her head so she could see his face out of the corner of her eye. "Thank you... for being honest with me."

She felt his grip around her waist tighten, and Raud broke into a canter. They went around the crowd of people and came to the front beside Éowyn.

"How long until we reach Edoras?" Haldir asked.

"If we keep up our pace, we should reach the city by midday tomorrow," Éowyn replied.

They did keep their pace and went until the sun set behind them. When the air began to cool, they halted and made camp. The hills were soon dotted with campfires. Cristiel lay out on her back beside the fire that Haldir had built, while Raud stood nearby, grazing lazily on new spring grass. Haldir sat repairing his bow and arrows. They looked up when Éowyn came over and joined them.

"I've been thinking a lot about your brother," she said after a long awkward silence.

Haldir looked at Cristiel and she frantically shook her head. The elf raised an eyebrow.

"I think I love him, Cristiel."

"Oh?" She hoped she didn't sound too obvious.

"But I know I said too much to him yesterday, and I hope he wasn't offended."

"Don't worry," said Haldir. "Wait for him to approach you. He will if the feeling is mutual."

Cristiel glared at him, but he only shrugged.

"Yes, I suppose," Éowyn said softly. "Cristiel, what do you think of _my_ brother?"

"Although I've only known him a short time, he is kind and has been a good companion to me."

Haldir glared at Cristiel this time.

"I believe he feels more for you than he might have admitted," Éowyn said. "But he has been occupied with the war."

"Of course. But he's managed to talk with me several times already. I have to admit his presence has been comforting." Cristiel then glanced at Haldir. "He knows how to keep his distance."

Haldir lifted his chin a little and returned his attention to his bow, pretending he hadn't heard her.

"Éomer has always been careful around women," said Éowyn. "A few years ago, a royal party from Dol Amroth visited my uncle, and Éomer was quite taken with the Lord's daughter. Lothiriel I think was her name. But he never had a chance to speak with her. She was very shy."

"I suppose I've never learned to hold my tongue when I should," Cristiel said softly. Haldir cleared his throat and she narrowed her eyes at him.

Éowyn smiled, the firelight playing on her face. "I think it is only Éomer. He seems to have an attraction to slender, dark haired beauties. Lothiriel was no exception. But he has not seen her since, and now that you've come along..." She trailed off, leaving the obvious to linger in Cristiel's mind.

She liked Éomer. He was kind, loyal, a strong commander, and a brave soldier. And she appreciated his culture, the little she'd seen of it. She found their ways to be tangible, grounded, and human, qualities she'd failed to find in the elven cultures she'd lived among all her life. But she found no desire within her to pursue a deeper relationship with Éomer. She wasn't ready for another romantic relationship yet, so soon after losing Boromir. She needed time.

Éowyn bid them goodnight and left the light of their fire to tend her horse. Cristiel adjusted her cloak around her and turned on her side, using her saddlebag as a pillow. But sleep would not come.

"Haldir, do you really believe Arwen would leave?"

She heard him shift from his place. A body sat down close to her head, but she didn't bother to look up at him.

"I believe she will do as Lord Elrond wishes," he replied softly.

"But I don't understand why she would leave us. If my father had any say—"

"At this point, we do not know if any of us will survive. The world is fading, and the time of the elves is over. We are leaving these shores."

At this, she did look up. "She is my mother, Haldir. Surely she would stay. I know she would stay."

"Then I can't answer your question, Estelwen. Only time will tell."

She sighed and drew her arm up under her saddlebag to raise her head. "Will you ever sail west?"

There was a moment of silence. She wondered if she shouldn't have asked.

"I don't know. I am focusing on the here and now. If it means I remain, then I would gladly stay if it meant I would be by your side."

Soft fingers brushed her hair behind her ear.

"Haldir..."

"You must rest, Estelwen. We have many miles still to go tomorrow."

She clenched her teeth as he kissed her forehead. She didn't love him, yet he treated her as though she did. She didn't know how she would convince him that she couldn't love him. It seemed she had only one option at this point, and she wasn't sure she liked that either. It was just too soon.

But Éowyn had confirmed her suspicions about Éomer, and at this point he seemed like the best one.

* * *

They rose early, before the sun, and set out with renewed strength towards Edoras. Haldir walked beside Raud and Cristiel, only because she'd politely convinced him he didn't need to ride with her for the entire journey.

"I am fully capable of riding a horse on my own, Haldir," she'd said, and the elf smirked.

The land was cool, with early morning mists still settled over the grass. The sky was soft blue, but the earth itself was dark against it. Behind them, the last stars slowly faded away into the morning.

There was a commotion among the people who walked some distance ahead of them. Raud stopped and tensed underneath Cristiel, snorting, his ears shooting forward. Cristiel settled deeper into her saddle, urging him forward. The gelding balked. The other horses were acting similarly.

Then the air grew heavy. A black shape veered across the sky from the east, blocking temporarily the light coming from the rising sun. They watched as it circled, then it made a terrible, screeching noise before disappearing into the western darkness.

At this sound, Raud pawed at the ground and lunged at Haldir, who leaped deftly out of the way. The other horses around them spooked and startled, some rearing, others bucking. Raud reared up and whirled, tossing his head frantically. Cristiel grasped at his mane, waiting for him to calm himself. She whispered to him in the only way she knew how, and after a few moments the gelding returned to his four hooves. But his tail swished behind him irritably.

Cristiel patted his neck, watching as all the horses in the company reluctantly quieted down. Haldir approached the gelding, caressing his chestnut face with one hand and taking the bridle in the other.

"That was a Nazgul," said the elf.

Cristiel stared at him. "Quite obviously," she said. "It's driven the horses mad."

Raud stamped at the ground and snorted. She could feel how tense he still was beneath her.

"We are lucky these creatures recognize the servants of the Enemy. We will have much need of their awareness in the future."

Cristiel sighed and pushed her feet deeper into the stirrups. She nudged Raud forward, chewing on her lip as Haldir leaped on behind her.

"You could have fallen and hurt yourself further. I will not take that risk anymore."

She said nothing, even when he put his arm around her waist again.

They arrived at Edoras as the sun reached ten o' clock. Haldir stayed with her as she untacked Raud in the stable, and as she walked up to Meduseld. When Éowyn called for her to come and help prepare for the victory feast that evening, he followed. Even when Cristiel was occupied with making preparations, Haldir was always by her side. His hand might graze her waist or his arms might catch a precarious armload of mugs and dishes. Cristiel appreciated his help, but loathed his attention. She swore she would find a way to keep him from clinging to her, and the first idea that came to her mind was Éomer.


	16. Holding Your Liquor

**Chapter XVI: Holding Your Liquor**

Gandalf, Aragorn, King Théoden, and Éomer returned to Edoras in the early afternoon. The people of the city lined the roads and sent up shouts of praise for the king and his victory. But the king's face was grave.

The company that walked into Meduseld was ominously quiet. When Cristiel went to greet her father, he gave her a hug but there was no vigor in his action. She asked him what happened at Isengard and he replied softly that Saruman was defeated.

"And for that we must celebrate tonight." He smiled, then his gaze shifted to someone behind her. She turned and found herself trapped in the arms of two hobbits.

"Merry! Pippin!" she exclaimed.

"How do you do, Cristiel!" said Pippin. "We've had the greatest adventure so far!"

"We met this Ent fellow named Treebeard," said Merry.

"We helped to overthrow Isengard! Oh, and we found pipeweed too!" Pippin exclaimed.

Merry pulled his long, curved pipe from his belt and held it up proudly.

Cristiel grinned. "It's wonderful to see you again."

The hobbits grinned back then hurried away to enjoy a smoke. Aragorn smiled and went away to talk with Gandalf. Then Cristiel turned at the hand on her shoulder. It was Éomer.

"They never hesitate to brag about their conquests," he said. "One of them wouldn't shut up for most of the return journey."

She laughed again. "I can't imagine who. I'm just happy to see them alive and well. It's been nine days since..." she trailed off, her throat tightening. She couldn't believe herself, for keeping track of how long it had been. It'd felt like an eternity. She clenched her teeth to swallow through her emotions.

"Are you alright?" Éomer shifted his hand from her shoulder to her cheek. Cristiel looked at him, blinking furiously to keep her tears at bay. She nodded and purposely turned slightly away to take his hand from her face. It made her uncomfortable.

Then she spotted Haldir across the width of the Hall, and held her hand behind her back. "Hold my hand, Éomer," she whispered.

The man raised an eyebrow but did as she requested. "Shall we go for a walk?" he suggested.

She nodded and they went quickly from Meduseld. Cristiel glanced at Haldir when she thought he wasn't looking, but was met with his fierce gaze.

Cristiel and Éomer went out a side door of the Hall and slowed once they had descended a small flight of stairs to the ground. Éomer was still gripping her hand and she gave it a little pull.

"You can let go now," she said smiling a little.

He did, though reluctantly. "Are you sure you're alright?"

She sighed and gazed at the city below them. "I'm sure he will want to speak with me later. I don't know how to make him understand. I've already told him I cannot love him. It's just... I could see it in his eyes, Éomer. He has never held so much passion—"

Éomer placed a finger over her lips and she stopped mid-sentence. "How long have you known him?"

"For as long as I can remember. We've always been close friends."

"But now he cannot seem to take his eyes off you."

"No, and I don't understand why, even after everything I've said to him. When Boromir and I were in Lórien, he acted very cordial but a little reserved, as if..."

She swallowed and Éomer took her hand again, his thumb tracing the back of her palm. Cristiel stared at it for a moment, then met his gaze.

"My lord—"

"I'm sorry." He dropped her hand. She bit her bottom lip as the silence grew awkward. "I should see to the king," he said. He smiled slightly, inclining his head, then strode away, taking the stairs three at a time and disappeared inside the hall.

Cristiel crossed her arms, raising one hand to push hair out of her face.

"Your mouth is open, Estelwen. You don't want to swallow a fly."

She turned only her head and saw Legolas leaning casually against the wall of the stable.

"Oh, wipe that smirk off your face!" she exclaimed. "You've worn it for days now!"

He didn't. "If I was watching closely, and I usually am, I'd say that Haldir might not be your only problem. That is, of course, if you're still considering him a problem."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not that he's a problem. It's that I can't handle him pursuing me as if I'm his lost true love. He's my friend, not my lover!"

Legolas pushed himself off the wall with his leg and strode up to her. "Have you told him your personal sentiments?"

"Once."

"Well I am no matchmaker, but if I were you I would choose Éomer."

"Excuse me?" she sputtered.

"He seems to know a thing or two about personal space," said Legolas. He laughed as she stared at him in exasperation.

"You are not helping me at all. I have no feelings for Haldir nor Éomer. I don't need this right now."

"What do you need?"

"A friend. So if you are not going to provide that for me, then I shall have to find someone else who will."

Legolas reached around her shoulders and pulled her in for a warm hug. "You will always have my friendship, Estelwen."

She sighed into his chest, then looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you."

The elf nodded. "Now what were you planning on doing this evening? Attending the victory feast I assume?"

"I was actually considering not attending," she said slowly.

"Why?"

"You know why! Haldir will never leave my side if he finds me."

"So you would rather hide in the shadows than come out and enjoy the festivities? Running from your troubles will not make them disappear. You will need to confront Haldir if you want to convince him that he should not love you."

Cristiel was silent as they walked on the palace grounds for a while, until the sun began to drop behind the mountains and the sky grew dark.

"I suppose you're right," she said finally. "I should attend. I might miss out on the hobbits' antics."

Legolas grinned. "You should leave your hair down tonight. I hear Éomer has an attraction to 'dark haired beauties.'"

Before Cristiel could reach up and slap him, he ducked and sprinted up the palace steps.

"You foolish, prying elf," she muttered.

"I wasn't the one who eavesdropped on a council I was not invited to," he called.

She glared at him and went gingerly up the stairs. Her ankle was giving her more grief. Hoping to go unnoticed, she hurried through a side door and collided with Éowyn.

"Cristiel! I've been looking for you." The woman took her hand. "Come with me. I want to help you get ready."

"But Eowyn—"

"Come! Your hair is in a ghastly tangle!"

Cristiel groaned inwardly and followed Éowyn without a word through the twisting halls.

* * *

After a moment of remembrance for all those who fell at Helm's Deep, the once somber Hall of Meduseld became a lively chamber stuffed with a teeming mass of laughter and drunkenness. Merry and Pippin had found themselves an audience for their antics around one of the long tables, which they were dancing on top of. Across the Hall, Éomer and Gimli had convinced Legolas to join their drinking game, which Cristiel watched with quiet amusement. She'd stayed by Éomer's side throughout the night, keeping an eye out for Haldir. At first she'd seen him chatting with Aragorn, but when she looked again he was gone. That was when Aragorn came up to her.

"Haldir is leaving early in the morning. He feels he must return to his duties in Lorien." He grasped her shoulder gently. "He's outside."

Cristiel looked at her father with a searching gaze, but his steely expression masked whatever he was thinking. She glanced at Éomer, who was too involved in the drinking game to notice anything else, so she nodded to Aragorn and left the Hall.

Once outside the warmth and noise of the celebration, she shivered and gazed into the night. The city was strangely quiet, her inhabitants feasting within Meduseld. An owl hooted from somewhere in the rafters of a house. She paused as a figure appeared around the corner, a dark silhouette against the starry sky.

"Haldir?"

The figure stepped into the shaft of light that wafted from the slightly-ajar doors. "Estelwen."

"My father said you were to leave in the morning."

"Before the sun. I feel my duties have been neglected for one too many days."

His blue eyes glinted in the dim light, looking right at her. She couldn't meet his gaze. Guilt rose up inside her again as she recalled his words at Helm's Deep.

_I want you to be happy, Estelwen. I love you._

He drew up to her, taking her hands in his. "Come with me," he said softly.

"What?" Cristiel's gaze shot up to his face.

"Return with me to Lórien. You'll be safer there. Here, you are on the front lines of the war."

"The Enemy has not encroached upon Lothlórien?" she replied, her tone implicating.

He squeezed her hands when she tried to free them. "Rohan is not protected by the power of my people."

"Haldir, do not make me feel even more guilty," she said quickly, regretting her spoken thoughts immediately.

He blanched, letting her hands slip from his grasp. She saw his jaw clench and crossed her arms.

"I didn't mean—Haldir, I've already said this. I don't want to hurt you, but..." She struggled to make the words come out, especially when he cupped her face in his hands.

"Is it because of your father?"

Her lips parted.

"He told me that Lord Elrond permitted you to go with the Fellowship on the condition that you would never leave his or Boromir's sight."

"Look how well that turned out," she muttered.

"You would stay for Aragorn? Or is it something else?"

He was so close now, close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her face. He smelled of mallorn leaves. The scent made her breathing hitch as a hundred images from her childhood sped through her mind. She shut her eyes briefly to contain a shudder.

"I realize what you feel for me," she said. "I had hoped it wasn't true, that it was just a passing whim, that you would realize I do not share your feelings."

She took a step backward as he kissed her forehead. He followed her.

"I tried to tell you at Helm's Deep," she whispered. "Could you not listen?"

"I listen to my heart, Estelwen. My heart tells me that I will always love you."

He kissed her forehead again, his breath drifting over her face.

"And what of our friendship?" she asked. He didn't answer. Instead, his hands still cupping her face, he kissed her lips.

Tears stung her eyes as she realized he would never back down. What friendship they'd had, he'd willingly turned into love. Whether he chose to accept it or not, it was unrequited. She let him kiss her again, then inhaled as he briefly withdrew his contact. His hands fell from her face to her upper arms, and he held them firmly.

_"Do you love me, Cristiel?"_

She stared at him. He'd used her mother name. He never used her mother name.

_"As a friend, yes,"_ she whispered. Her answer obviously didn't satisfy him.

_"What does your heart tell you?"_

He searched her eyes, and she met his gaze genuinely.

"I cannot," she said with a shaky voice.

The softness in his face fell away. He let her arms go, his brow tightening. He pressed his lips together and backed away slowly.

Cristiel opened her mouth to say something, but Haldir shook his head. "I will leave tonight," he said, his voice noticeably firmer. "I have no need to be in Rohan any longer."

She didn't know what to say now. She felt too guilty for something she knew she shouldn't have to feel guilty about.

"I pray you will find someone whom you _can_ love," he said. She stared after him as he went down the steps of Meduseld without another word, disappearing into the night. She shivered again, surprised at herself as she blinked back tears. A few minutes later, a single horse and rider galloped out of the royal stable, kicking up dust that glowed in the starlight. The horse and rider grew smaller and smaller as they made their way to the city gate, which was opened briefly to let them through. As the gate shut, she could see him no more.

She stood staring into the night for another minute, slightly dazed at what had just occurred. A drunken yell from within Meduseld brought her from her stupor, and she quietly reentered the Hall. Everyone was partying as when she had left the Hall minutes earlier, as if nothing had happened. A few women glanced strangely at her as she passed, so she wiped her face. Her cheeks were soaked. She snagged a towel from a table and pressed it to her face, wiping her cheeks dry. When she looked up again, Aragorn was standing beside her, looking very concerned.

"He left," she stated.

"So soon?"

She nodded, bunching the towel in her hand into a ball which she subsequently threw at the table. Aragorn took her hand.

"He kissed me!" she said quietly. She shut her eyes, shaking her head, willing the memory away. When she opened her eyes, Éowyn was standing beside Aragorn, holding a cup towards him. He glanced at Cristiel, then turned his attention to the woman, taking the offered goblet with a small smile. Frustrated, Cristiel turned away and went across the Hall to where Éomer's drinking game had come to a close. Gimli was laying on the floor, drunk and incapacitated. Cristiel exchanged a look with Legolas.

"Game over," said the elf, looking very satisfied with himself.

The corner of Cristiel's mouth rose in a half smile, and she watched as Gimli was dragged away by a couple men.

"It doesn't seem to have effected you," she said to Legolas. He raised his hand and studied it.

"My fingers are tingling."

Éomer set down his mug as Cristiel laughed softly. Legolas downed the rest of his mug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, smiling at them both, he bowed and disappeared into the crowd.

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever seen an elf drink—"

"Never," she replied quickly, grinning. "How many?"

He motioned to the table behind her. The pile of mugs rose like a pyramid, threatening to tumble over any minute. Cristiel bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"Where is Haldir?" said Éomer.

Her smile quickly faded. "He um... he rode out not ten minutes ago. Duties call, I suppose." She shrugged.

"Did he say goodbye?"

Cristiel stared at him. "He kissed me."

Éomer's brow furrowed. "You allowed him to kiss you?"

"What was I supposed to do? Run away? Slap him? We used to be such good friends!" Tears stung her eyes again. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from crying.

Éomer came up to her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We are fighting a war that is far from over. He only did so because he believe he had no other choice, because he would be leaving anyway. Do not fault him."

Cristiel sniffed. She noticed how bright blue his eyes seemed, and looked away. Éowyn was stealing glances at Aragorn from across the Hall.

"I need to talk to my father," said Cristiel. Éomer nodded and squeezed her shoulder before letting go.

She crossed the Hall, squeezing awkwardly between a plump woman and a drunk man, and bumping into the hobbits more than once. They were dancing through the crowd with full mugs of ale in their hands. Cristiel shook her head, the corners of her mouth lifting. She wished she had a reason to celebrate like that.

She caught Aragorn as he was finishing up a conversation with Gandalf. He immediately took her hands, his gaze going soft.

"Are you alright, daughter?"

She swallowed and nodded slowly. Glancing around them to be sure they weren't being eavesdropped upon by a certain woman, she leaned closer to him, lowering her voice. "Do you still love my mother?"

His brow tightened. "Of course I do, Cristiel. Why do you ask?"

"The way you look at Éowyn, the way she looks at you. I can see it on her face, ada. She loves you."

Aragorn clenched his jaw, sighing quietly. "I do not want to hurt her. I treat her with the same respect I would show any woman. Don't jump to conclusions—"

"I'm not!" she exclaimed. She composed herself when Gandalf looked their way. "I'm not, ada. I was only getting very confused about the state of my parents' marriage, and why my father was suddenly wooing an admittedly beautiful woman of my age." She muttered the last words through clenched teeth.

"Éowyn is lonely. She has every right to wish to be with someone, and she has done more wooing of me than I of her. But I can promise you I would never be unfaithful to your mother."

"You are playing with her feelings!" she exclaimed softly. The look he gave her made her bite her lip.

"Go find Éomer, or Legolas, and occupy yourself with good conversation. Or perhaps you should retire."

Cristiel stared as her father gave her one last meaningful gaze and turned away, making his way through the crowd of partiers, probably to get a drink.

Then she knew she couldn't retire just yet. Not until she'd had a drink herself.

She waited a few minutes until she thought no one was watching her, then pushed through the crowd, going straight for the kegs. She grabbed an empty mug off the table and filled it. Then she started chugging.

She tried to do it discreetly, but of course a young woman chugging ale was a deviant sight, even at a rowdy Rohirric celebration. She refilled the mug and proceeded to empty it down her throat again. The bitter taste clung to her mouth even when she was done. Upon filling her mug for a third time, a few men noticed, came over, and started cheering her on. She tried to ignore them, but their brawling laughter encouraged her on further. She drank and refilled and drank again, so many times that she quickly lost count. At length, she began to grow dizzy. Men grew three heads and six arms. She gave a crooked grin and leaned against a table to steady herself, then downed another mug of ale. She'd never drunk so much in her life. It made her feel wonderfully numb.

"Would any of you be surprised to know I've never been outside Rivendell or Lórien for my entire life 'till now?" she said, slurring her words. "The elves kept me from doing what I wanted when I wanted to do it and where I wanted... which was anywhere else I hadn't been already."

Laughter rose from the crowd that had gathered around her, more at her drunken mannerisms than at what she was saying. She took another swig of ale.

"It should be obvious. Here I can drink all I want, and I can forget everything I don't want to remember. My sheltered childhood, my elf friend who thought I loved him, my absent father..." Her voice wavered and she stumbled over to a bench. Her head was spinning. "He's the heir to the throne of Gondor, you know."

Murmurs rose from the crowd.

"Yes, Aragorn Elessar, the future king of Gondor. But he refused to accept it for so long," she waved a hand in the air, "that my grandfather, the great Lord Elrond, cast him out into exile. Of course that was also because Aragorn married my mother, an elf, who gave up her immortality just for him!"

The laughter and jeers grew louder suddenly, and she turned to see what the cause was. When she saw him, she gasped and attempted to run from her seat. Aragorn took her arm angrily and pulled her up from her seat himself.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

"I was just telling these great men of Rohan all about you, ada," she said loudly. "But you haven't let me get to the best part yet. Never want to forget about Boromir..."

Aragorn stared at her as her slurred sentence trailed off, then he locked an arm around her shoulders and guided her away from the celebration into a secluded corner of the Hall. He gripped both of her arms tightly, his gray eyes hard as steel.

"You have shamed yourself and you have shamed me. Have you no self respect?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! I was just having a drink."

"One too many, to be sure."

He dragged her the rest of the way out of the Hall, catching the attention of several men including Éomer, who only looked on curiously.

By the time Aragorn had Cristiel situated in a suitable private place to sleep, she was leaning on him, barely awake, muttering something about Haldir. He gently laid her on the bed and pulled a blanket over her. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he watched her sleep for a minute. Then he removed himself from the room and returned to the Hall.


	17. Aciem Nocte

**Chapter XVII: Aciem Nocte**

When Cristiel opened her eyes, she was greeted with a ray of sunlight shining through the window above her. The brightness made her head throb and she groaned. Shielding her face from the light, she sat up slowly. Her stomach churned. She pushed herself off the bed and grappled for a chamber pot, the contents of her stomach emptying into the metal bowl. She wiped her mouth with a towel and leaned back onto the bed with a sigh to let her headache subside. Whatever she'd done the night before, it could not have been good. All she could remember was laughing at the drinking game between Legolas and Gimli, and then stomping away from a conversation with her father. After that it was all a blur.

Grimacing at the taste that lingered in her mouth, she got out of bed again and stumbled into the next room. She found an empty private chamber and doused her face with water from someone's wash basin. She located a cracked mirror across the room and briefly glanced at herself. There were bags under her eyes and her hair was tangled and falling out of its two braids which Éowyn had done for her yesterday. She undid the braids and combed her fingers through the knots that had formed, then pulled two sections of hair out of her face, leaving the rest to hang down her back. It would have to do for now.

She left the chamber and ambled down the hall. Passing the kitchens, the smells of lye and oil caused her head to spin and she hurried away. As she reached the main hall of Meduseld, she heard Gandalf's voice rising above the rest, and decided they must have been discussing something extremely important. Her curiosity winning out once again, she came into the Hall quietly, just as Gandalf was shuffling Pippin away as Merry followed behind. She watched them leave curiously, then turned her attention back towards the king. Theoden was pacing back and forth across the width of the room, but Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. She crossed to a table where Gimli and Legolas were lounging, the former enjoying his pipe. They greeted her warmly, but Cristiel didn't miss the snicker from Gimli. She attempted to give the dwarf a narrow-eyed stare, but couldn't quite hold it when Legolas let out a soft chuckle.

"What happened last night?" she croaked. She coughed as she realized how dry her throat was, and this set off her headache. She groaned and lay her head in her arms on the table top. A moment later, Legolas' hand on her shoulder made her look up, bleery eyed, but she took his offered cup of water gratefully.

"You were very drunk last night," said Legolas. "Aragorn had to drag you out of here and put you to bed like a child. You put up quite a fight before conceding, and you drew the attentions of many men." Despite the graveness in his voice, his blue eyes were glittering.

Cristiel felt her face grow hot, and she covered it in her hands. "There's nothing I can say that would make it go away, is there? I don't know what got into me."

"Everyone knows how much liquor you can handle now," said Gimli. "Much more liquor than any lass I know, I might add." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Just be glad that young Éomer over there didn't deal with you himself, eh?"

She craned her neck until her head throbbed. Éomer had entered the Hall accompanied by several of his men. She froze for a second, staring, hoping he hadn't seen her, embarrassed at the thought that he'd watched her drink herself into slumber. She leaned towards Legolas.

"Help me out here," she whispered.

He stared at her.

"How about raiding the kitchen?" she offered.

Gimli chuckled as Legolas' expression grew amused, but the elf didn't move to leave. Éomer was crossing the room, moving towards them, and Cristiel panicked.

"I just want to avoid him!" she hissed.

Legolas followed her gaze to Éomer and the corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. "Shall we visit the stables?"

Cristiel immediately stood up, ignoring her persistent headache. "Anywhere but here."

Gimli grunted. "I was hoping we'd pillage the kitchens..."

* * *

They made a pass by the kitchens anyway to get Gimli to stop grumbling. The dwarf had saved the workers there the trouble of dumping out the leftover meat to the dogs by eating it himself.

The stables were quiet. The horses had already been fed and were munching contentedly on their morning grains. Cristiel wandered down one aisle of stalls until she found Brego, the horse Aragorn had ridden at Helm's Deep. The dark, majestic stallion stood with one hoof cocked lazily on its toe. His ears pricked up as she approached his stall, and he gave a gentle snort when her hand met his glossy face.

"Cristiel!"

Brego raised his head suddenly and Cristiel turned. It was Gandalf. She acknowledged him with a smile.

"You're up rather late," he pointed out.

Her smile grew sheepish. She opened her mouth to give an apology for her behavior, but he cut her off.

"I do not have time for small talk nor can I explain the situation at hand. Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I must ride for Minis Tirith and I am taking Pippin with me. Meanwhile, I want you to make yourself useful."

Cristiel straightened at his tone. "Of course I should make myself useful," she muttered, gazing back at Brego.

"Listen to me! If the beacons of Gondor are lit, which they had better be if the Steward has any sense left in him, Théoden will ride to Gondor's aid. When that happens, you must ride for Minis Tirith."

Cristiel tore her gaze from Brego. "Why?"

"The men of Gondor will need to know that help is coming. A great storm is approaching, and hope will be Gondor's best defense."

"Gandalf, I do not—What about—" She stopped when the wizard narrowed his eyes at her. "How do I get there?" she conceded.

"Follow the White Mountains east," he replied, then he whirled away.

"Wait!"

Gandalf stopped and turned, his face betraying the fact that he'd been expecting her questions.

"Why are you riding for Minis Tirith? Why can't you tell the men of Gondor that Rohan will ride to their aid? I don't understand why you need me."

"Because I do not know if Théoden will ride at all," he replied softly. "And the men of Gondor are more likely to listen to a beautiful young woman than a crazy old man." He smiled briefly then disappeared around the corner. Cristiel blinked, frozen in place until Legolas came into view.

"Did you hear any of that?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied. "And you should be thrilled."

She swallowed. "I don't want to be separated from him again," she said softly.

"Who?"

"My father."

Legolas' next words were stolen from his mouth as Shadowfax raced past them with Gandalf and Pippin aboard. They watched as the white stallion galloped away down the road and left Edoras in the dust.

"You should do what he asked of you," Legolas said finally.

"And what if I don't?"

"You wouldn't want to suffer the wrath of the White Wizard, Estelwen."

* * *

The hours after Gandalf's rushed departure passed unbearably slowly, and by midday Cristiel thought she could take it no longer. His words to her had been simple, yet something very profound still clung to them even as she replayed them in her mind. She had mixed feelings about riding to Minis Tirith, regarding the idea as something she had once desperately wanted to do, but not anymore now that Boromir was no longer with her. He had bragged about his beloved city so much, and if he was still alive, would have probably returned to it days ago.

But now all she wanted was to stay with Aragorn, and possibly avoid Éomer as much as possible. She still didn't remember what had happened last night, but she knew that when alcohol was involved nothing good would come of it.

But now as she gazed at the landscape around her, she grew determined to drive anymore negativity from her mind. She would go for a ride. Not a long one, but just enough of one to reassure herself that her life hadn't fallen apart completely. She knew that if she continued to yearn and pray for some impossible miracle, depression would not be far behind hopelessness.

"Though the situation might seem hopeless already," she said to herself as she led Raud from his stall.

She tacked up quickly and mounted as the chestnut pranced into the sunlight of the yard. The city was quiet, and she immediately realized why she'd wanted to ride so badly: the atmosphere of Edoras was dark and dismal, sharply contrasted against the wide blue sky and the endless grassy fields that stretched towards the mountains in the south. And she was growing increasingly weary of this shadow.

She paid no attention to the sound of shod hooves behind her and urged Raud into a canter. They went down the steep road through the center of the city and brushed past the guards at the city gate. Raud snorted as they came into the open fields and she urged him on faster. As they galloped over a rise in the foothills, Cristiel shut her eyes for just a moment, listening to the wind whistle around them, the beating of hooves in the earth, feeling the horse moving powerfully beneath her. She opened her eyes as the stallion's movements shifted and slowed. Another rider had followed them.

"Where are you off to, Cristiel?"

She reined in her mount at the voice. Coming towards her on a large dapple gray was Éomer, riding his horse's long strides comfortably. Cristiel bit her lip.

"What brings you beyond the walls of Edoras?" he asked.

"Perhaps nothing but my own whim, my lord," she answered curtly.

"It is only natural for me to wonder," he replied. She nodded in understanding.

"Shall we ride together?" she offered, immediately regretting her words.

Éomer's face softened as he smiled. "Of course."

Cristiel shook her head at herself as they pushed their horses into a casual trot. She couldn't believe she'd invited him to join her. It wasn't as if he'd decline being with her. She knew his intentions well enough by now.

"Are you alright?"

She looked over at him in surprise. "I'm fine."

"I had wondered, especially after your performance last night."

She felt her face grow hot. "It was Haldir. He—"

"Blaming it on your elf friend, are we?"

She glared at him this time. "Did you not hear me when I said he kissed me? He told me he loved me and that I would be happy with him. My childhood friend, of all people!" Her strangling grip on the reins caused Raud to toss his head so she let them slide through her fingers. "He only left because I rejected him."

"So that's why you got yourself drunk last night."

She peered at his crooked smile. "One of several reasons, I suppose." She sighed and pushed Raud into a canter. Éomer quickly followed suit.

They rode across the foothills in complete silence, keeping a brisk canter, and Cristiel glancing at Éomer less often than he at her. When she could stand their silence no longer, she loosened the reins to let Raud run. The stallion tossed his head with a snort and galloped at full speed across the plain, angling towards the city. Cristiel shut her eyes again, but this time all she could hear were the hoofbeats of Éomer's horse beside her, the creaking of saddles, and the wind.

* * *

She still had not said a word to Éomer after they'd dismounted in the stable. She hurried through the motions of untacking and quickly found a stableboy who would take care of Raud for her, if only so she could escape Éomer's presence. She walked quickly from the stable to the palace, pulling her cloak tight against the chill afternoon wind, frustrated at the boot steps behind her. So she stopped and whirled on him.

"Éomer, is there something you want from me?"

The man slowed his pace as he approached her, but caught her arm before she could step back. "You asked me to stay with you."

"That was before..." she trailed off, her eyes falling to Éomer's hand on her arm. He gently let it go. She looked up at him gratefully. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take my feelings out on you. I just need some space."

He nodded and stepped away. "I understand."

Cristiel pulled her cloak tightly around her arms and watched for a moment as he went up the hill towards Meduseld. A knot formed in her throat as she wondered if Haldir had made it safely towards Lorien. She shivered and noticed how the sun was beginning to hide behind the mountains in the west. The warmth of the Hall was calling.

* * *

Cristiel tried to occupy the remainder of her evening through conversation with Éowyn. However, the latter was only intent on discussing who she might one day marry and Cristiel was in no mood to discuss that, especially when Éowyn's gaze kept floating towards Aragorn. Cristiel finally excused herself during a long pause when she could take it no more, and without acknowledging anyone, returned to the privacy of her quarters. Not even bothering to let her hair out of its braids, she collapsed onto the soft down bed and shadows overtook her sleep.

_The sky was dark, covered in a thick gloom not even the mid-day sun could pierce. The stench of blood and mangled flesh filled the heavy air. In the open field, men cried for mercy from forces too shadowy to distinguish. Beasts screamed overhead, their wings thumping like a cold heart inside a hollow chest._

_Standing amidst the carnage, she was alone. She stared past it all, past the battle that raged around her, past the stench that made her stomach roil. Agonizing screams of pain melted away into the background until they were nothing but a muffled haze surrounding her. Her eyes were fixed upon something beyond the mountains. A black tower. It loomed over her menacingly, seeming to grow, as if she was flying towards it. She could not stop._

_The eye appeared suddenly, flaming brilliant orange and crimson, divided in half by a slender black iris, unblinking forever. He was searching desperately for something, something that He knew would threaten him as long as it existed. He raised his stare to her and she froze, as if she were carved in cold stone. Suddenly, white hot flame spewed threateningly from the abyss of the eye's iris. The sun disappeared into a black mist, leaving the void between her and Him in darkness._

_Time stopped._

_ There was nothing; only the heir; and Him. The silence was forever._

_Then He spoke, a great and horrible roar. Her scream was sucked from her throat. The ground gave way beneath her, and she fell into the darkness._

Cristiel lurched up in bed with a gasp. Her heart thudded against her ribcage and her fingers gripped the sheets. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, shutting her eyes in exhaustion. Shaking involuntarily, she untangled herself from the covers, wiping sweat from her face. She swung her legs towards the floor, but when she tried to stand she trembled and collapsed back onto the bed. Her stomach turned as she recalled the images that had jerked her from sleep. She wanted to throw up and forget about them. They had been so real.

She sat up again, the sick feeling disappearing as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. She pulled her cloak from the bedpost and wrapped it tightly around her, hiding her shaking hands within its warm folds. She knew they weren't shaking because of the cold.

She carefully made her way through the darkness of her room and came out into the empty hall. The space was dimly lit by a small fire that still burned in the hearth at the center of the room. She crossed the hall and went out onto the terrace that surrounded the building. She cringed when the door creaked as it shut behind her. A dark figure standing only a few paces away turned, and she could barely make out his weathered features in the moonlight.

"Ada," she mumbled.

She felt his strong hands on her shoulders and fought to keep herself together. He must have felt how tense she was.

"It's late, Cristiel. What troubles you?" His voice was so soft, comforting like she'd never heard it before.

"I couldn't sleep. It's nothing." She gritted her teeth at the lie.

"You are shaking."

Her breathing wavered and she brushed away the wetness from her eyes. "It was a dream. Nothing more."

She knew his brow was knit by now, and his gaze softer and concerned, even though she could barely see the outline of his face and the glimmer of the moon in his eyes.

"Dreams can be powerful things, daughter. Tell me what you saw."

So she did. At least she tried to. She barely made it past the part about the battle, and when her thoughts fell on the eye, she could speak no more. She leaned into his shoulder, silent tears pouring down her cheeks. She'd never been so scared in all her life, and she told him. He whispered a few words of comfort, but nothing could make the horrible dread sinking into the pit of her stomach go away.

She clung to him for what seemed like hours, but when she looked up, the sky was just as dark as it'd been when she'd first awoken. She sniffed as Aragorn wiped her cheeks of tears.

"I'm such a mess," she muttered. "You don't have to do this, ada. Don't treat me like—"

"You're my daughter and I love you. It doesn't matter whether you're two or twenty or sixty."

She managed a small smile, pulling her cloak around her as a cold gust blew in from the mountains. "I should probably try to get a little more sleep."

Aragorn nodded. "Sleep peacefully."

She reached down to squeeze his hand, then slipped away into the shadows. She fell into bed, and when she woke seemingly minutes later, the sun streamed through the nearby window, and a great horn could be heard. Following the horn, a voice cried, "Muster the Rohirrim!"

Cristiel leaped out of bed and charged out into the hall of Meduseld. She knew what she had to do.


End file.
